


This Deadly Innocence, or The End of the  Hurt/Comfort Syndrome

by Foresmutters_Archivist (Open_Doors)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1979-08-25
Updated: 1979-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:16:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Open_Doors/pseuds/Foresmutters_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By Leslie Fish</p><p>Doctor McCoy has detected a dangerous syndrome in two of his patients. He prescribes a novel treatment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Deadly Innocence, or The End of the  Hurt/Comfort Syndrome

**Author's Note:**

> By Leslie Fish, 1979. "This Deadly Innocence" was originally published in NAKED TIMES 3.

"Jim, I don't know if he's going to make it."

The words had circled silently in Kirk's mind for the  
last three hours and more while he sat motionless  
beside the intensive care unit bed. Spock lay there,  
equally motionless, deep in the healing trance, life-  
support machines covering most of his body. Kirk kept  
watch, remembering all the times he'd seen this sight  
before, or seen it played over himself. *So many times  
we've cheated death...* He took one limp hand between  
his own, marveling once more at the fineness of bone  
and tendon, the long supple fingers, more-than-human  
heat, so familiar and so treasured. *We can cheat the  
Reaper one more time. There's a chance, Spock. Take it.  
Fight. Win. We'll make it...*

He refused to think of what losing would mean. That  
thought was a shadowy horror, breathing cold wind on  
the back of his neck, and if he didn't turn to look at  
it, it couldn't gain on him, couldn't catch Spock.  
*Don't look. Win. Fifty-fifty. We've beaten worse odds.  
You can do it. Hours and hours of fighting, and we  
can't lose now. Please, Spock. Come through alive.  
Alive and whole. Healing trance, all McCoy's skill, all  
my... hope... Oh, please, Spock... please...*

The lean hand twitched ever so faintly. Kirk clutched  
it hard, afraid to move. *I'm here, Spock! Here!*  
Another twitch, stronger. *Oh, please--* Quicker  
breathing. *Spock--* Eyelids fluttered, but didn't  
rise. A faint, barely audible word.

"...Jim?"

"Yes!" Kirk whispered, leaning close. "I'm here, with  
you."

"Jim... strike me... waken..."

"Hit you?!" *Get him out of the trance. But I don't  
want to hurt him! Never, never hurt him...*

"...please..."

"All right." *I _hate_ this!* Kirk slapped the Vulcan's  
cheek.

"Harder."

Biting his lip, Kirk slapped again. Harder.

"Again!"

Kirk did as he was told, struggling to keep his aim  
through threatening tears. Again. And again. Three  
times. Four. Spock's head rocked on the pillow. His  
eyes snapped open. "Thank you, Jim. That is  
sufficient."

"You're alive!" Kirk almost sobbed with relief. He  
leaned over Spock, impulsively wrapping his arms around  
him. "Oh, you're alive..."

"That... should be self-evident." Spock's mouth  
twitched faintly in his Vulcan equivalent of a smile.  
He raised one hand, still trembling with weakness, and  
gently brushed that willful little lock of hair off  
Kirk's forehead. "Have you been waiting long?"

"Half the night," Kirk murmured, running his fingers  
softly over the growing bruise on Spock's cheek, as if  
trying to soothe the mark away. The skin felt velvety,  
warm, dry.

"I regret having... kept you from your rest." Spock's  
voice was tired, infinitely tired, but the faint note  
of warmth was unmistakable. He let his hand slip down  
until it covered Kirk's.

"It's all right. Just so long as you're alive and  
well..." Gratitude choked off his shaking voice. Kirk  
bent lower and gently pressed his lips to the green  
bruise. *Safe and well... oh, I can't tell you...*

Spock smiled drowsily, drifting in a quiet haze of  
well-being. He turned his head slightly and returned  
the gesture, intrigued by the smooth textures, feeling  
wrapped in soft layers of peace and contentment. His  
eyes slid shut and his breathing stretched into the  
deep rhythms of normal sleep.

Kirk held his hand a moment longer, then gently set it  
back on the blanket and quietly stood up. He lowered  
the area lights to dusk level, studied Spock's sleeping  
face one last time, and turned to go.

That was when he saw McCoy standing in the doorway.

The doctor was leaning against the door frame, arms  
crossed, as if he'd been standing there for a long  
time. His expression was unreadable. He said nothing,  
only waved Kirk toward him with an imperious finger.  
Kirk followed, hitching one shoulder higher than the  
other, wondering why he felt vaguely embarrassed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

"Sit down," said McCoy, locking the office door.

Kirk sat. "Spock shouldn't have been left alone like  
that," he began defensively. "What if there'd been  
nobody there to wake him at the right time?"

"He wasn't left alone." McCoy took the chair on the  
other side of the desk. "I was watching for a good  
twenty minutes before he woke."

"Oh." Kirk settled back in his chair, fighting down an  
unexplained sense of outraged privacy. "Well, uh... No  
problem, then."

"Oh, yes there is." McCoy pinned him with a hard blue  
stare. "I observed a medical condition which is, in my  
best scientific opinion, extremely dangerous."

"What?! What condition? Isn't Spock all right?"

"For now." McCoy leaned back, not taking his eyes off  
Kirk. "Until next time."

"What do you mean: 'next time?'"

"I mean the next time you deliberately take unnecessary  
risks-- or he does," McCoy snapped. "This is the sixth  
time this year that I've had to patch up one or the  
other of you for injuries acquired not in the line of  
duty, but because of stupid, heroic, show-off stunts.  
I'm getting more than tired of it!"

"Look, Bones," Kirk displayed his most engaging grin.  
"We're in a dangerous line of work. You know I have to  
go down on all the landing parties; you can't lead from  
behind the lines. The risks come with the-"

"Shut up," McCoy cut him off tiredly. "Stop giving me  
the same old excuses and listen to what I'm saying. I  
told you, *unnecessary* risks. That's exactly what I  
meant. Do you want details?"

"I don't understand what you mean by *unnecessary ,*"  
Kirk glowered.

"All right, I'll draw pictures! How did Spock get hurt  
this time?"

"You know that already." Kirk looked down at his hands.  
"Protecting me from a landslide."

"Right. And that landslide never would have happened if  
you hadn't strolled right up to the edge of that cliff!  
You knew it was soft earth, not solid rock; a  
kindergarten child would have known it couldn't hold  
your weight. Spock could have told you. He was, after  
all, standing right by your shoulder. Very convenient!"

"I was careless!" Kirk almost shouted. "I was tired,  
and I got careless. Don't you think I've been kicking  
myself over that?"

"Not in the right place. This isn't an isolated  
incident; remember the last time you got hurt?"

"God, yes! That giant tarantula-thing on V'Dikka.  
Brrr!"

"The natives call it a snolligoster. They gave us  
plenty of warning about it: a usually harmless beast,  
but very territorial, so keep away from its private  
territory. And what did Spock do? Deliberately poke his  
head in a snolligoster hole! Of course the damn thing  
grabbed him-- and of course you went running in with a  
drawn phaser, and of course you ran up and kicked the  
snolligoster instead of stunning it, so of course it  
turned on *you.* Took me two days to pump the poisons  
out of your bloodstream."

"I didn't know what setting would stun it, and I  
couldn't shoot at a higher setting for fear of killing  
Spock. What was I supposed to do?"

"You could have fired past Spock. The snolligoster was  
as big as a truck." 

"I-- It was dark. Couldn't be sure..." Kirk realized he  
was actually squirming.

"Umm hmmm. And before that you provoked that  
carnivorous plant on Venca 5, and Spock got the  
thorns."

"It looked harmless!" *Why am I shouting?*

"Not quite fatal, you mean-- and you've been a starship  
captain too long to be so careless. Now before that it  
was the forest fire on Earth, where Spock could have  
gotten out safely by himself, but you went plunging in  
to help and caught that falling conifer across your  
back. Before that it was the hypnotic flame-creature  
that jack-lighted you and bit Spock when he hauled you  
away from it. And before *that* it was the treacherous  
tide on Kyngai-- and what possessed Spock to try  
swimming, anyway? Of course you saved him-- damn near  
killing yourself with exhaustion in the process-- but  
he normally stays away from water, hates to swim.  
That's what first started me wondering."

"He said he needed the practice," Kirk snapped. "What's  
this all about, Bones? What's the point?" The instant  
the words were out of his mouth, Kirk got an ominous  
feeling that he shouldn't have asked.

"Oh, come on! Do you mean you really can't see the  
pattern?" McCoy studied him for a moment, then reached  
into the lower desk drawer for the reliable bottle and  
glasses. "You've been taking turns."

"At what?" Kirk picked up a glass, avoiding McCoy's  
eye.

"Arranging accidents for yourselves, that's what."  
McCoy filled the glass for him. "You've gotten it down  
to a science-- or maybe an art-form: a ritual danger,  
rescue, worry and relief. Formal and stately as a  
pavane. A classic case. Cheers."

Kirk drained half the glass in one gulp, waited until  
he could feel the liquid heat spread evenly through his  
body, then took a deep breath and ventured to the next  
step. "A classic case of what, Bones?"

"Conversion Hysteria." McCoy took a leisurely sip from  
his own glass. "Specifically, a case of Hurt/Comfort  
Syndrome. In layman's terms, that means you both want  
something very badly, but don't dare take it-- or even  
think about it-- directly. Instead, you've invented a  
substitute, an indirect approach, this ritualized  
smokescreen, all to give yourselves a bare taste of  
what you really want, without letting anyone know you  
want it-- least of all yourselves. It's a dangerous  
game, Jim, and ultimately self-destructive."

"'Conversion"..." --*hysteria.* The implications of the  
word annoyed Kirk enough to make him charge ahead. "All  
right, you say we've got this-- this-- uh, problem.  
You're the doctor, and I'll take your word for it. So  
why are we doing it? Do you have any theories? What is  
it that we're unconsciously, covering up?"

"Love, Jim."

"Huhhh?" Kirk almost dropped his glass. "...Us?"

"Yes, you. You know damn well that Spock's your best  
friend, and you love him dearly. He loves you, just as  
much-- though of course he can't admit it. Neither can  
you. That's the problem."

"Wha-- But of course I can..." Kirk fumbled. "I mean,  
of course I feel... uh, a lot for him, but you can't  
just say-- I mean... Dammit, he's a Vulcan!" *Why the  
hell is my heart pounding like this?*

"Right. He's a Vulcan, and can't admit to feelings. He  
can't even act out what he can't say, except in very  
limited ways-- such as jumping between you and danger."  
McCoy grinned wryly over the edge of his glass. "You,  
on the other hand, are human. A starship captain, with  
tons of responsibility on your shoulders, obliged to  
set an example of calm, cool, clear-headed efficiency--  
no matter what you're feeling. The result is, you don't  
know how to express love, either."

"Now wait a minute! I've got a girl in every port. I've  
never had any trouble--"

"Seducing women? Of course not." McCoy's smile softened  
a bit. "You've got that down to a science, too. The  
whole courtship procedure: charming smile and charming  
words, candy and flowers, drinks and dinner,  
entertainment and a ride home, in the door and a few  
words more, off with the clothes and on with the  
action. You're very good at it."

"You make it sound awfully cold and mechanical," Kirk  
grumbled, wondering if he were blushing.

"'Ritualized', to be precise. There's nothing wrong  
with that in itself, so long as you keep enough  
flexibility to deal with individual circumstances.  
Trouble is, that's the only procedure you know-- and  
you certainly can't apply it to Spock."

Kirk snapped his head up, blushing furiously. "So just  
what do you want me to do?" he bellowed. "Send flowers  
and valentines?!" *Imagine how Spock would react to  
that!*

"It wouldn't be very effective, but it'd be a damn  
sight safer!" McCoy roared right back at him. "Don't  
you realize how dangerous your current game is? You  
could get killed this way!"

"I-- Game?! Migod, you think we deliberately got caught  
in a landslide? For *love*?"

"Yes!" McCoy slammed his hand down on the desk. "Love  
is the payoff. Can't you see it yet? The only way you  
two know how to express love for each other is to show  
concern when one of you is hurt!"

"What? No! I mean--"

"Come off it, Jim. That's what you were doing in the  
intensive care unit just now: showing love the only way  
you can. I know a love scene when I see one, and that's  
exactly what I saw."

"Damn you," Kirk whispered, gritting his teeth. He  
wrenched his gaze away from McCoy and onto his shot-  
glass. Steady ripples were spreading through the gold  
liquid. *Stop that!* he thought, horrified.

"That's why you do it, both of you: setting each other  
up, putting yourselves in danger, letting the other  
come to the rescue and get hurt, waiting in Sickbay  
until the crisis passes-- all for that one little  
moment when the rescuer first wakes up and the rescuee  
gets to comfort him. That's the payoff, Jim! That one  
moment when you can express the love you feel. That's  
why you do it."

Kirk didn't say anything. He stared at the glass,  
watching the ripples, turning hot and cold by turns.

"That's the whole point of the game," McCoy bored on  
relentlessly. "Days-- maybe weeks-- of unconscious  
planning, hours of pain and fearful waiting, all that  
useless risk and injury, just for a few seconds'  
payoff. Dammit, that's too high a price! And too little  
return! Do you realize that Spock broke nearly every  
bone in his body, just for one hug and kiss? Migod,  
what price will he pay for a necking session?!"

"Bones, stop it!" Kirk squeezed his eyes shut. *No, no,  
not tears!*

"Jim, *you* have to stop it. Both of you." McCoy  
gripped Kirk's shoulder and shook him urgently. "The  
game isn't worth it. One of these days you're going to  
smash yourselves worse than I can repair, and that will  
raid the game for good. What will the survivor do  
then?"

"No!" Kirk remembered the shadow that had waited at his  
back all through the long night in Sickbay. *If Spock  
dies... No, no, I can't lose him! Not for some neurotic  
game! I can't let him go on like this, torturing  
himself for me. I can't... it hurts... Oh, Spock...  
no...*

"It has to stop now." McCoy leaned back and finished  
his brandy, giving Kirk time to regain his precious  
self-control. "I can't tell you what to do instead;  
that's up to you. I do know that there are countless  
safe ways of expressing love, and you'll just have to  
experiment until you find one that satisfies both of  
you. All I can do is give you time and an opportunity."  
He reached over to the desk's viewscreen, punched a few  
buttons and studied the readout. "Hmmm. Yes, that'll do  
nicely. Look, the *Enterprise* is heading for Starbase  
Six for an overhaul and a long R&R for the crew. On the  
way there, in four days or so, we'll pass JL471-4--  
also known as Lilliput: a quiet, safe, comfortable  
planet with no inhabitants but a few scientists  
studying the wildlife. We'll drop you and Spock off  
there and pick you up on the way back. That'll give you  
nearly four weeks to work out some sort of  
arrangement."

"Four weeks! I can't possibly take that much time.  
Besides, Starbase Six has some of the best night spots  
this side of--"

"Medical orders!" McCoy roared at him. "There are lives  
at stake here! I'm sending you off to find a solution  
for a serious personal problem, not to go carousing  
through clip-joints while Spock hides in the computer.  
You two are taking medical leave on Lilliput, starting  
in four days, or I'll exercise medical authority and  
turn you in. I'm not bluffing, Jim."

"All right," Kirk surrendered. He drained the last of  
his drink and stood up. "I'll do it, Bones. I'll find a  
way, somehow, to get through that Vulcan shell." He  
threw McCoy a vague salute and walked out.

*It isn't just Spock!* McCoy wanted to yell after him.  
Instead, he only sighed. *Hell, it was hard enough  
getting him to accept this much. And now I've got to  
convince Spock, too. Oh, headache!*

Part 2

It took McCoy nearly three days to come up with a  
tight, logical, foolproof argument. It took another  
half-day to phrase the argument in stiffly proper  
terminology. Spock woke on the fourth morning with his  
mind clear and sharp as ever, but McCoy was ready for  
him.

"You're progressing well, Spock," he began, glancing  
from his handful of papers to the diagnostic panel. "At  
this rate, you should be able to walk again in another  
two weeks or less."

"I can manage at present with crutches," Spock noted.

"Not for long periods of time. I'm prescribing medical  
leave on Lilliput, which we'll be passing this  
afternoon. The *Enterprise* will pick you up when it  
returns from Starbase Six. Of course, I'll send someone  
along with you." McCoy tried to sound nonchalant while  
waiting for the reaction.

It wasn't long in coming. Spock's eyebrows winged up to  
his bangs. "Lilliput?" he almost gulped. "I was not  
aware that JL471-4 possessed medical facilities  
superior to those of the ship, much less those of the  
Starbase."

"It doesn't," McCoy continued smoothly, "but the  
research team there should be quite capable of  
rendering any assistance necessary." McCoy waited  
again, suppressing a grin.

"Then may I ask why you require me to take medical  
leave on Lilliput?" Spock sounded ever-so-faintly  
exasperated.

"You may ask." McCoy decided not to tease any further.  
He put on his best professional face and recited:  
"There is a serious socio-psychological problem  
requiring your undivided attention, which you could  
best apply far from the distractions of the ship or the  
Starbase, on a quiet world like Lilliput."

"What is the nature of the problem?" Spock actually  
looked intrigued.

*Must be eaten up with curiosity,* McCoy judged. "It  
concerns the unusual and self-destructive behavior of  
two officers on this ship. They have, without spoken  
agreement or even conscious decision, entered into a  
dangerous private ritual as a substitute for emotional  
communication. Of course, we can't allow this to  
continue."

"Indeed," Spock enthused. "I have often noticed that,  
for creatures who place such high value on their  
emotions, humans are often remarkably incapable of  
expressing them efficiently. What is the nature of the  
ritual?"

"Alternately, one or the other will expose himself to  
danger-- just barely within the other's capacity to  
survive-- thus obliging the other to rescue him at the  
expense of personal injury. While the rescuer is  
recuperating, the rescued party waits for him to  
recover, making a special point of being present when  
the other first awakens. That's when the emotional  
exchange takes place. It usually lasts for only a  
minute or two, but for the sake of that brief exchange,  
they're willing to go through all the rest of it. I've  
observed them doing this no less than six times in the  
past year." It wasn't easy to keep his face straight,  
or even his voice, but McCoy managed.

"Fascinating," Spock commented. "I assume that you  
would not require my assistance if you were able to  
persuade them to forego this dangerous ceremony.  
Therefore, the emotional satisfaction involved must be  
extremely important to them."

"It is." *Now we get to it!* "It seems to be the only  
method they know of to express their feelings for each  
other."

"Remarkable. And the emotions involved are too strong  
to be effectively suppressed?"

"Much too strong," McCoy firmly agreed. "In fact,  
previous suppression is one cause of the problem. It's  
like trying to pen up the Colorado River in a dam  
without a floodgate. The water backs up, the pressure  
increases, and sooner or later the river finds a way  
out: over the top, or spilling out at the sides, or  
seeping through the surrounding land, or by breaking  
the dam. In any case, the uncontrolled leaks are  
dangerous. Strengthening possible leakage sites doesn't  
work: there's enough volume and pressure there for the  
water-- in this case, the feelings-- to go through some  
of the damnedest contortions in order to find a way  
out."

"A critical situation, then," Spock concurred, bemused  
by the striking analogy. "It is imperative that a safe  
outlet be found, and quickly. I assume that you cannot  
think of any yourself?"

"True," McCoy admitted. "It's gotten so intense between  
those two, so fiercely personal, that I honestly don't  
know what to suggest to them. Simple generalizations  
won't work. They have to be made aware of the problem  
so they can find a suitable outlet for themselves."

"Safety may present a problem," Spock considered. "I  
assume, from the nature of the bizarre temporary  
solution, that the emotions involved are negative:  
hostility, hatred, jealousy perhaps."

"Oh, no," McCoy corrected. "Quite the contrary. The  
only emotion involved is a very positive one. Love."

"Love?!" For an instant, Spock looked downright pole-  
axed. "But... exposing each other to danger, injury..."

"-- has nothing to do with the nature of the emotion  
itself. It's simply the only outlet available. They get  
themselves hurt so they can comfort each other. See?"

"Astonishing." Spock shook his head thoughtfully.  
"Truly astonishing. The illogical convolutions of human  
emotion never cease to amaze me."

McCoy almost exploded at that, but managed to hold his  
reaction down to a choked snicker. It sounded like a  
cough, and Spock took it for a sign of polite  
impatience.

"In that case, since only the safety of the  
participants is involved, they must be removed from all  
exposure to danger. Certainly, they must be sent off  
the ship, as well as made aware of the problem, as  
quickly as possible. Perhaps the best procedure would  
be to place them together in a safe and unstimulating  
environment, under medical orders, to discover a more  
direct and efficient way of expressing their, uhm,  
affection. To facilitate such efforts, they should be  
isolated from other social contacts which might inhibit  
or distract them."

"Agreed." McCoy smiled and dropped the bomb. "Then I'll  
send Jim down to Lilliput with you and 1630 today."

It took Spock a few seconds to put that together. When  
he did, the expression on his face was, in McCoy's  
estimation, sufficient payoff for the last four days'  
work.

* * *

The isolation McCoy had hoped for didn't happen  
immediately; regulations required medical checkups for  
the planetary research station's personnel, and that  
gave Spock and Kirk legitimate reason to spend the  
first day visiting the scientists.

McCoy glowered at both of them as they met in the  
transporter room. Kirk, carrying a suitcase and  
unobtrusively supporting Spock, sheepishly studied his  
feet. Spock, perched uncomfortably on a pair of  
crutches, looked at the ceiling. McCoy wasn't fooled.

"Open that suitcase, Jim," he snapped. "Show me what  
you're taking."

Kirk started to complain, caught McCoy's look, and  
meekly opened the suitcase. McCoy prodded through it  
meticulously as a customs inspector. "Umm Hmm. Three  
books. No way; one's plenty." Kirk glumly picked out  
two volumes and handed them to Scott. McCoy looked  
further. "Nope, not the portable chess set either. Take  
this back, too, Scotty."

"Aw, come on, Bones," Kirk protested. "We always play  
chess after dinner. It's an old tradition."

"It's a substitute for communication! That's not what  
you're here for. Hmm, the rest looks harmless." He  
closed the case with a snap. "Now let's go."

"Yes, Doctor," Kirk sighed. "Beam us down, Scotty."

Scott grinned and complied.

The little party materialized outside the main dome of  
the research station. The door opened and a dozen  
scientists trotted out, casually dressed, shouting  
assorted welcomes, inviting the visitors inside,  
jostling each other in their eagerness to swap  
introductions and tell the Starfleet officers about  
their research. It was obvious that the medical  
examination wouldn't be conducted right away.

Kirk accepted the hospitality, including cups of local  
herb tea liberally laced with brandy, and settled  
himself unobtrusively in a corner. McCoy was chatting  
happily with the scientists and Spock was bent eagerly  
over a tape reader screen, both looking relaxed and  
quite at home. Spock actually seemed to be enjoying  
himself.

*...Hope so,* Kirk thought. *Always knew there was a  
passionate soul hidden somewhere under that Vulcan  
armor... But I never expected it to surface like-- * He  
glanced at Spock's bandaged legs. *--Like that! No, not  
like that, not again, my friend... * he thought,  
studying the elegant point of an ear, the gleaming  
smoothness of sleek ebony hair. *My best friend, None  
better anywhere. Yes, Bones. Communication. Find a  
way... No matter what embarrassment it costs him, or  
what pain it costs me. I can't lose him. Not for Vulcan  
pride or my reticence or anything else.*

"... priceless opportunity to see civilization just  
beginning," the chief xenoanthropologist was saying.  
"The killer whales were nomadic hunters until just six  
generations ago, when they stumbled on this lagoon. The  
single entrance made it easy for them to trap a large  
school of the neo-carp-- we call them goldfish-- which  
assured a steady food supply."

"Killer whales?" Kirk yawned, intrigued despite  
himself. "They can live on goldfish?"

"Ah, those are our pet-names for them," Doctor Brown  
smiled, happy to elaborate on his specialty. "The fish  
strongly resemble goldfish, despite the size  
difference, and the intelligent sea mammals Earth  
killer whales. Come have a look."

Kirk got up and came over to gaze at the tape viewer  
screen. Spock hitched his chair aside to make room.  
Sure enough, the screen displayed a view of a school of  
glittering golden fish, their tails and fins elongated  
into transparent veils. They were accompanied by sleek  
blue killer whales, no more than twice the size of  
their golden charges, wearing belts of coarse rope. As  
Kirk watched, two killer whales drove a particular  
goldfish out of the school, actually bound it with  
their belts and dragged it away.

"Like shepherds, or cowboys," Kirk commented, "cutting  
a steer out of the herd. Is that one earmarked for the  
day's dinner?"

"Eventually," said the scientist. "They do something  
odd with it first. Also, the killer whales are  
technically farmers more than herders. In that wide  
patch of seaweed behind them, you'll note a group of  
killer whales pulling out certain weeds and planting  
bits of others. They know that the goldfish prefer the  
second sort of weed, and they've learned how to  
encourage its growth."

"This reveals excellent powers of observation," Spock  
noted.

"Oh, true, true. They figured out agriculture in just  
four generations of settled living. Ah, now we come to  
the interesting part. Look at that remarkable mosaic on  
the lagoon floor."

Kirk looked, and saw a pattern drawn in the white sand.  
It was filled with rows of bright pebbles and shells,  
and did look remarkably like a picture of a killer  
whale. Just ahead of the mosaic was a donut-shaped  
stone. A third killer whale, apparently quite old to  
judge from its faded colors, swam up and inspected the  
tied goldfish, then nodded once in what seemed to be  
approval. The other two killer whales dragged the  
goldfish onto the stone and held it still. The third  
killer whale nodded solemnly twice, then set its jaws  
just behind the goldfish's head and bit hard. The  
goldfish jerked once, then lay still.

Spock looked away.

The other two killer whales pulled off the rope-belts  
and began, with surprising neatness, to gut and skin  
the carcass. The old killer whale took the goldfish's  
severed head, laid it carefully on the sand just in  
front of the "face" of the mosaic, bowed three times  
and backed off, out of range of the camera.

"Damned if that doesn't look like a sacrificial  
offering!" said Kirk. "Is that mosaic a-- an idol to  
some sort of killer whale god?"

"Goddess," Doctor Brown corrected. "It has the markings  
of a female. That's the only theory that covers all the  
bases, and if it's correct, that pretty lady is some  
sort of fertility goddess. Here--" He changed the tape,  
showing an overhead view of the killer whales dancing  
in a complex pattern that centered on the mosaic.  
"That's their spring mating festival. Killer whales are  
generally monogamous and they usually dance with their  
mates during the first warm tide of spring; but nowhere  
else do we find a whole community of them dancing  
together in a group pattern. Apparently, they've  
changed their dance to honor the Lady there."

"So she's a love goddess," Kirk laughed. "Ha! 'Foam-  
born Aphrodite!"

Spock looked away again, unaccountably embarrassed.

On the screen, all the killer whales leaped into the  
air together, gleaming in the sun, and dived gracefully  
back into the water.

"Beautiful," Kirk murmured.

"Mrrrowr," echoed a voice from the floor.

Kirk looked down to see a small sandy-brown cat twining  
affectionately around his ankles. He bent down to pet  
it. It purred and leaned against his hand. "Pretty  
cat," he commented, picking it up. "Did you bring it  
from Earth with you?"

"No," Doctor Brown laughed, "she's a native. We found  
her as an abandoned cub and raised her ourselves. By  
the time she was big enough to survive out in the  
woods, she'd made up her mind that she wanted to stay  
with us. We just couldn't make her leave."

"Oh, yes, cats are like that," Kirk chuckled, tickling  
the cat's chin. "What do you call her?"

"'Leo giganticus', though it hardly fits this  
particular girl. She may have started out as a lion,  
but she's ended up as a pussycat."

"'Leo... giganticus?'" Kirk stared at the little cat,  
who responded by licking his nose. "The 'Giant Lion'?"

"That's right. Second biggest land-going predator on  
the planet. The Tiny Tyrannosaurus is somewhat taller,  
and the Anchovy Whale out in the big sea is nearly five  
feet long, but this little darling is right up there in  
the heavy-weight class."

"Those killer whales we observed vary in length from  
six to eight inches long," Spock added, noting Kirk's  
dropped jaw. "The goldfish are of approximately Earth-  
normal size."

Doctor Brown shrugged at his guest's ignorance. "The  
planet's constant tectonic activity results in shallow  
seas, numerous low mountains, tiny valleys, and  
literally millions of ponds and streams. Except for a  
few trees, all lifeforms are small. There's no  
percentage in being big."

"What's the matter, Jim?" McCoy grinned at Kirk's pole-  
axed look. "Didn't you do your homework? This world  
isn't called Lilliput for nothing."

Uh uh..." Kirk replied. *Safe as a playground.* "And we  
have four weeks to play Gulliver, eh?" Kirk hoped his  
expression showed none of the sudden, irrational anger  
he felt. *It's not as if we were suicidal, dammit! ...  
But... what if Spock is? Migod, has it gotten that  
bad?!*

Kirk spent the rest of the evening keeping and eye on  
Spock, no way reassured by seeing nothing out of the  
ordinary in the Vulcan's behavior. Long after they'd  
retired for the night, Kirk lay awake in his sleeping  
bag, anxiously watching Spock's ribs rise and fall in  
the slow rhythms of sleep. It seemed to him that he'd  
never before seen his friend look so fragile, so  
vulnerable, or so dear. When sleep finally came, it was  
laced with disturbing dreams of falling rocks and  
threatening monsters, the only path to safety being a  
tangled trail where kitten-sized lions and tiny  
dinosaurs led the way.

Part 3

Early in the morning, they transported to the  
surveyor's cabin, two thousand miles north of the main  
station. Kirk took a deep breath of the resin-scented  
air and looked about him, approving of what he saw. The  
small field-stone cabin nestled among low conifers that  
resembled white pines, a small garden of mixed flowers  
and vegetables half-circling its long side, a mossy  
path leading from its front door to a large-pond/small-  
lake some fifty yards away. Warm yellow sunlight lay  
like spilled honey over the scene and gleamed like fire  
from the huge solar window on the south side of the  
cabin's roof. The light wind carried countless soft  
sounds of wildlife from the surrounding forest.

"Lovely place," Kirk decreed. "I can't think of a  
better shore leave spot. Let's go in and set up  
housekeeping." He headed up the path discreetly slow,  
letting Spock keep pace without too much effort.

Spock said nothing, his mind busy with managing the  
awkward crutches, observing details of the local  
ecosystem, and covertly watching Kirk. The captain  
appeared relaxed and comfortable in these surroundings,  
revealing no symptoms of his unhealthy desire for  
physical danger, though Spock knew this could be  
misleading. Even the safest of environments could  
contain hazards, if one labored diligently enough at  
finding them.

*...Which he will doubtless do,* Spock considered  
gloomily. *I must endeavor to stay near him at all  
times, recognize potential dangers before he can, and  
inconspicuously, steer him away from them.  
Difficult...* Spock studied the cheerful expression on  
Kirk's face, the exuberant vitality displayed in the  
smooth motions, the easy strength and deep sensuality  
evident in the otherwise-well-cared-for body, and he  
cringed to think of all that health and beauty poisoned  
by a single psychological error. *It must be corrected!  
I must deter him from indulging in this destructive  
ritual. Unforgivable that I have ignorantly assisted  
him for so long! ...My responsibility, then. I must  
diligently encourage him toward safer expressions of  
his ... affection ... for myself. My own  
proprieties/preferences are irrelevant. I will do  
whatever is necessary ... to save him...*

The cabin was unlocked. They stepped inside, canvassing  
the interior easily in the light from the great solar  
window. The main room was furnished with a wide bed,  
several bookshelves and sample cases along the walls, a  
broad table and chair with a small self-powered study  
lamp, a clothes rack and chest of drawers in the  
corner, and a huge stone fireplace with a shaggy  
fireproof hearth-rug. To either side of the fireplace  
stood a door. The first lead to the bathroom which  
boasted a well-stocked medicine cabinet, a small basin  
with no water source except a presently-empty bucket,  
and earth-toilet, a plain ceramic bathtub with a pump  
connected to the solar-window/water-collector, and  
nothing else. The kitchen possessed another basin and  
bucket, another wooden table, a small cabinet full of  
pots, pans, dishes and utensils, a few food storage  
cabinets, and no modern conveniences except an overhead  
light and a cold-box. Kirk conducted the inspection  
tour, commenting happily about how primitive and  
unspoiled everything was, while Spock hitched his way  
over to the bed and sat down on it. He stood the  
crutches against the footboard and glowered at them  
while he rubbed his sore armpits. The crutches were at  
least half an inch too long, and using them for any  
length of time was annoyingly painful. He wondered how  
McCoy could have made such an error; for all his human  
failings, the doctor was normally quite meticulous  
about his work.

"The larder isn't very well stocked," Kirk reported,  
coming back from the kitchen with a small box of herb  
tea and a jar of pickled sardine-like fish. "But  
there's a guide book to the local foods. Let's go out  
and -- Uhm, no, you stay here. I'll go out to the  
garden and pick breakfast."

Spock nodded agreement, silently biting back the words  
'be careful.' He didn't think Kirk could get into too  
much trouble in the vegetable garden, at least not this  
soon. Nonetheless, he monitored Kirk's progress by  
following the captain's off-key whistling of "Red River  
Valley" as he picked his way through the plants.  
Nothing untoward happened, and Spock felt both relieved  
and a bit sheepish when Kirk came back in with an  
armload of salad greens and mushrooms.

Kirk dropped his garden-plunder on the table, looked  
around for a moment, then slapped his head in  
exasperation. "Damn! I forgot -- no running water. I  
guess we're supposed to fetch it in from the pond, or  
maybe the stream." He went back to the kitchen and  
came out with the bucket. "I'll only be gone a few  
minutes. Be careful while I'm gone."

*Me be careful?* Spock thought that over while Kirk  
trotted out the door, leaving it open behind him as if  
to keep a clear view of the interior. *Just what does  
he think I would do? One might think that _I_ were the  
one displaying self-destructive tendencies! I must  
consider the significance of this symptom ...* He  
stretched out on the bed, relaxed, and settled into  
light meditation.

There was a soft scratching sound at the door. Spock  
snapped his eyes open and turned to look. Peering  
around the door-jamb was an animal the size of a small  
squirrel, shaped and colored like a fangless Vulcan  
sehlat or a fat Earth brown bear. Spock watched,  
bemused, as the little beast sniffed and looked and  
listened. Eventually, it toddled across the threshold,  
followed by another tiny bear, then a third, then half  
a dozen more. Spock pondered the possibility that they  
were social animals. pack hunters, while the little  
scouting party reconnoitered the front part of the  
room, noses atwitch, converging on the table. It wasn't  
until they began shinnying efficiently up the table  
legs that Spock realized they were after the food.

"Be gone!" he commanded, sitting up. "Shoo!" The little  
bears paused, watching him, but didn't retreat. "Go  
away!" He waved his arms at them.

The bears, guessing that Spock wasn't mobile, kept a  
cautious eye on him as they resumed their assault on  
breakfast. Spock paused in his ignored exhortations to  
consider that the bears were familiar with people, and  
with the cabin. They could even recognize food inside a  
glass container. Then the bears rolled the jar off the  
table. It smashed on the floor with an enormous noise  
and mess. The little beasts on the floor converged on  
the ruins, dug out the fish, and gobbled them up with  
notable speed. The bears on the table turned their  
attention to the vegetables.

Part 4

*Sterner measures required.* Spock lifted one foot --  
an uncomfortable maneuver in his condition -- pulled  
off one boot and threw it. It whizzed a scant inch over  
the heads of the fuzzy freeloaders. They only crouched  
lower and ate faster.

*Shameless little thieves!* Spock realized he would  
have to intervene personally, and soon. He made a grab  
for the crutches and missed. The perverse prosthetics  
fell over, bounced once, and slithered out of reach. He  
pawed uselessly after them, hearing the bears chomp  
their way through the mushrooms. When he looked up,  
half the vegetables were gone. Even if he rolled off  
the bed and crawled, he'd never reach the food in time  
to save it. Exasperated beyond endurance, Spock  
employed the only tactic available. He leaned back and  
yelled for help.

"Jim! Come quickly!"

Down by the brook, Kirk sat bolt upright, dropping the  
nearly-filled bucket.

"Jim! *Help!* BEARS!!!"

Old habits snapped into place. Kirk forgot everything  
he'd been told about the planet's harmlessness and the  
size of the wildlife. He jumped to his feet, whipped  
out his hand phaser and went thundering back up the  
slope to the cabin.

Spock was on the point of swearing in ancient lowland  
Vulcanian when Kirk burst through the door, phaser  
first, ready to do battle with something at least twice  
the size of a grizzly. What struck Spock most was  
Kirk's expression. He could describe it only as  
'ecstatic martyrdom.' All he could think was that this  
proved everything McCoy had told him. He was perfectly  
horrified.

Kirk skidded to a halt, saw Spock unharmed but upset,  
noted no sign of any large dangerous animals, and  
wondered if the bears were in the kitchen or on the  
roof. "Where are they?" he panted.

Spock pointed.

Kirk looked. He did a classic double-take. His phaser  
hand dropped and so did his jaw. "...Bears?" he  
repeated, staring.

The fuzzy burglars looked up, squeaked in alarm, and  
fled the table as fast as they could waddle.

"They have," Spock pointed out, "completely devoured  
our breakfast."

Kirk burst out laughing. He stuffed the phaser back on  
his belt, ducked into the kitchen, returned with a  
broom and gently swatted the last of the miniature  
bandits out the door. He was still chuckling when he  
turned to survey the mess the little beasts had left.

"I fail to see anything amusing in the theft of our  
food," Spock grumbled. "We shall have to start over,  
from the beginning."

"Yes, but ... Heh! Bears!" Kirk laughed as he swept up  
the broken jar and the remaining scraps of greens.  
"When I heard you call, I thought ... Oh, hell, I  
imagined a pack of grizzlies trying to have *you* for  
breakfast."

Spock recalled that, among humans, the emotion of love  
often manifested itself as protectiveness. *Of course,  
that is part of the problem.* ... "I was in no danger,  
I assure you. I was merely... exasperated at my  
inability to deal with the animals."

Kirk glanced at him, noting the fallen crutches and  
missing boot. *Actually confessing to 'exasperation?'  
Must have been furious... and helpless...* "Well, I  
must've looked pretty silly myself, running in here  
ready for... Ha! Loaded for bear!" He brought the other  
boot and helped Spock into it. "Come on, let's go hunt  
up some more food."

Spock winced at the thought of using those miserable  
crutches again. "I... may be unable to assist you. I  
find these particular pair of prosthetics most ill-  
suited to my size."

"Odd. McCoy's usually more careful than that."  
*Complaints? Must really hurt.* "No problem: you can  
lean on me." Kirk pulled Spock's arm across his  
shoulders and hauled him upright. Unfortunately, Spock,  
being the taller by several inches, his feet still  
dragged on the ground. "Hmmm, looks like I'll have to  
carry you..." *Did McCoy set this up deliberately?!*  
Kirk slid his arms under Spock's shoulders and knees,  
and managed to pick him up without too much effort.  
Spock made no comment, kept perfectly still, and Kirk  
carried him out into the garden.

They spent the rest of the morning picking vegetables  
in companionable silence. Kirk retrieved the bucket,  
noted a number of the small sardine-like fish swimming  
in it, and found he could make a good-sized catch in a  
few minutes by using a large handkerchief for a  
fishnet. With the aid of the guidebook, Spick managed  
to collect a good assortment of wild nuts, fruit and  
edible fungi that Kirk had overlooked earlier. Kirk  
brought the food in first, then carried Spock back into  
the cabin and set him to building the cook-fire while  
he set the table. Lunch consisted of a large mixed  
salad, fresh mushrooms, fried fish and herb tea, with  
plenty left over for dinner. They ate ravenously and  
enjoyed it hugely.

Part 5

"Damn, that was good," said Kirk, leaning back and  
surveying his emptied plate. "Can't remember when I've  
had a better meal."

"'Hunger is the best sauce,'" Spock quoted.

"True..." Kirk couldn't think of anything else to say.  
In fact, for the first time in ages, he couldn't think  
what to do next. The silence stretched. Strangely  
anxious, he looked around for ideas. All that met his  
eyes were the dirty dishes. He took them into the  
kitchen and used the last of the water to wash them.  
That led to re-filling the buckets. After that, there  
was firewood to find and bring in. Kirk managed to keep  
busy for three more hours before he ran out of chores.

Spock, meanwhile, busied himself with tending the fire  
and reading the kitchen guidebook, which contained  
instructions for finding, gathering-or-catching,  
cleaning, and cooking every edible life-form in the  
area. He skipped the section on animals and read the  
section on plant life. When he finished it, he went  
back to the beginning and read it over. He was going  
through it for the third time when Kirk came over to  
the fire and sat down beside him on the hearthrug,  
giving a curiously resigned sigh.

Spock pretended to continue reading. Kirk looked at the  
fire, looked at the windowed ceiling, looked at his  
hands, fidgeted, and finally turned to look at Spock.

"Hmm, you know, Spock..." he began, "we're here for...  
more than just a few weeks' rest."

"I know." Spock closed the book.

"It's because we have a... sort of a... communications  
problem."

"Indeed."

Spock glanced up at him. Their eyes met for a moment,  
then darted away. Kirk chewed his lip, studied the  
fire, and tried again.

"Look, did McCoy talk to you about... uhm..."

"Yes." Spock squirmed slightly, tossed another twig  
into the fire, and picked at imaginary lint on his  
sleeve.

"Well, there's a... barrier, and it's causing trouble.  
Serious trouble." Kirk laced and unlaced his fingers.  
"We have to -- to *talk* to each other, get through  
that barrier somehow, really... communicate."

"True."

"It won't be easy. I really don't know where to start,  
or how, or... anything."

"Likewise."

"Well..." *This is like feeling around for hairline  
cracks in a solid steel bulkhead* "Damn."

Kirk grabbed a local-version pinecone and hurled it  
into the fire, scattering sparks. Spock flinched,  
startled and disturbed. He had read that frustrated  
communication among humans often manifested itself in  
violent action, but he had never personally seen such a  
graphic example before. *Indeed, McCoy was right. The  
problem is serious!"

Kirk took a deep breath, as if about to plunge into  
cold water. "Look, Spock, we're just going to have to  
talk to each other -- about anything, everything,  
thoughts and ... feelings, no matter how difficult it  
is -- for either of us."

"Agreed."

"All right." Kirk sighed again and lay back on the  
hearthrug, wishing to high heaven that McCoy had let  
him bring the chess set. It was hard to talk directly  
to Spock without that little screen of game-figures  
between them. *Maybe Bones was right. It is a barrier,  
a prop... But, dammit, I need a prop! Crutches...*  
"Say, do your arms still hurt from those things?"

Spock blinked, bewildered by the sudden change of  
subject. "No, I am quite recovered. I only regret that  
my mobility is severely curtailed without them."

"I don't mind carrying you. Or does that hurt, too?"

"Oh, no, not at all."

"Fine. How are your legs doing?"

"Recovering rapidly. The unavoidable swelling curtails  
movement, but the tissues are effectively regenerated."

Kirk smiled. *Same old Spock. Ask 'how are you?' and  
get a medical treatise* "I mean, is there much pain?"

"There is some slight discomfort," Spock admitted.

"In other words, it hurts." Kirk sat up. "It so happens  
that I can do something about that. McCoy gave me  
instructions: rub the stiffness out, twice a day. I  
should have done it this morning, in fact. Get out of  
those clothes."

"I -- I find the atmosphere somewhat chill..." Spock  
demurred, unaccountably embarrassed.

"Just a minute." Kirk got up, put another log on the  
fire and closed all the windows. Then he went into the  
bathroom and opened the bathtub spigot. The water  
poured into the tub, draining the solar collector;  
unchecked sunlight streamed in through the overhead  
window, and the cabin began to warm up rapidly.  
"There," Kirk said, coming back to the fire. "Now  
there's a hot bath waiting."

"You may indulge, if you wish," Spock replied,  
resignedly slipping off his boots, socks, uniform  
trousers and shirt. "I have never been attracted to the  
idea of submerging myself in water."

*Then why did you go swimming on Kynygai?! Oh, it's  
bad!* "I suppose I can always pump the water back up."  
Kirk sighed, thinking of the effort it would take to  
fill the collector again. *Life in the raw, all right!  
... Don't complain. It's necessary.* "Lie down on your  
stomach."

Spock stretched out on the hearthrug, glumly observing  
the fire. As far as he could tell, they had managed a  
personal communications exchange of only sixteen  
sentences: ten from Kirk, six from him. His  
contributions had consisted, almost entirely, of one  
word apiece. *Shamefully insufficient,* he judged. *I  
am dealing incompetently with the problem! No Vulcan  
should perform so poorly! (Shame!) Jim is attempting to  
deal with the situation, and I have been considerably  
less than helpful. (And I must help him!) ... But what  
could I say? What should I do? I am most  
(deliberately?) inexperienced in this area...*

Kirk sat down behind Spock, paused for a moment to  
remember how he was supposed to do this, then took one  
narrow foot in his lap and began kneading it gently.  
Spock noted the light pressure, felt the small pains in  
his foot beginning to dissipate, concluded that Kirk  
was proficient at this task, and turned his attention  
back to the primary problem.

Part 4

*Crisis situation,* he considered. *I must learn to  
handle it, and quickly. Emotional communication... (A  
Vulcan would sooner learn techniques of assassination.)  
Wait! Anomaly: Vulcans do learn techniques of... (Tal  
Shaya. The lirpa. The ahn-woon. Others...) Logical  
inconsistency! We suppress emotion because it clouds  
logic and leads to violence, which ends in destruction.  
Destruction is always undesirable. 'Reverence for  
life.' Surak's primary construct. Yet... we learn  
techniques of destruction. Why? Analyze!*

Kirk set down the relaxed foot and took up the other  
one. They were, he considered, very interesting feet:  
sharp-tendoned, long-toed, high-arched. The outer edge  
of the foot barely touched the ground; most of the  
calluses were on the heel and the roots of the toes. He  
wondered if the soles were ticklish, but decided not to  
experiment just now. It wouldn't help unkink those  
cramped muscles.

*What was I taught?* Spock pondered. *'There are rare  
circumstances under which logic dictates no other  
course.' So: violence motivated by logic is acceptable,  
but violence motivated by emotions is not. That appears  
consistent (Appears? Be sure.) ... Wait. If the effect  
is the same, why should the motivation make any  
difference? ...But certainly, it makes a difference!  
Emotional violence is uncontrolled, blind, irrational,  
while logically-motivated violence is... logical... No,  
one can't do that. Circular reasoning: illegitimate.  
Try again.*

The heat in the cabin was uncomfortably high for a  
human. Kirk paused to strip down to his briefs, then  
resumed work on Spock's legs. The calves and shins now,  
one at a time: even relaxed, the muscles felt as hard  
as pine wood.

*One simply cannot say,* Spock gnawed over the knotted  
problem, *that logic is right and emotion wrong.  
(Though I was taught that as a child. The reasons --  
rationalizations? -- came later...) One must show why.  
(Show cause! So much misery and effort -- there had to  
be a reason for it!) Logic is... orderly and  
predictable. Emotion is not. (Is it? Does not anger  
reliably make one wish to do harm, while love makes one  
wish to protect, to be kind, to make one's beloved  
happy?) If that were always true, we would not be  
here! (No, the problem here is love denied its direct  
expression.) Indeed! Protection -- and relief at my  
eventual safety -- those are the only he knows. (What  
of the others?) I... do not allow others. How can he  
show kindness to me when I do not acknowledge kindness?  
How can he attempt to make me happy when I refuse to  
feel happiness? (Own fault, then.) Yes...*

Spock laced his fingers together and pressed the  
knuckles against his mouth. Kirk's hands, climbing his  
left thigh, had reached the site of some serious  
cramps. The pressure was not noticeably painful, but  
the relief afterward more than made up for the pain

*I do not even know how to feel happiness!* Spock  
berated himself. *Only not-sad, not-in-pain, not-  
frustrated... (All negative states.) True, nothing  
positive. Thus I allow Jim no positive expression of  
his feeling -- only these costly rescues from pain...  
(Is this where logic has brought us?) Surely, it was  
meant to do better than this!*

Kirk's hands shifted to the other thigh, and promptly  
struck a knot of swollen muscle. The sudden,  
distracting pain made Spock grunt with surprise. Kirk  
snatched his hands away as if burned.

"Am I hurting you?"

"Yes, but it is necessary." Spock was too preoccupied  
to phrase his words carefully. "Please continue."

"Okay, but... that doesn't seem right." Kirk resumed  
the pressure, very cautiously, very gently. It took a  
long time to make the cramp yield.

*Examine premises,* Spock deliberated. *One's logic is  
no better than its basic premises. Vulcan adopted the  
philosophy of logic and emotional suppression in order  
to survive. Survival is the only purpose our logic  
serves. So there. (And what is survival?) Non-  
extinction. (No more?) Surely more! A stone is not  
dead; neither is it alive. Life is... an organic  
process. There. (Nothing more? Plants live, and  
animals; do we only imitate them?) Certainly not! We...  
think. Yes, and strive to think well. Intelligence,  
then. (But computers think, and are not alive.) Of  
course, if one could develop an organic computer... (Is  
that what we are supposed to be?) This is a horrible  
idea!

Spock snapped his head up, his back taut, fingers  
digging into the hearthrug. All those old human jokes,  
half-serious accusations, distant insults, had finally  
struck home.

Kirk pulled his hands away, certain that this reaction  
was his doing. "What happened, Spock? Did I hit a raw  
nerve?"

Spock didn't answer. He stared into the fire, jaw  
muscles working.

"Spock?" Seriously worried, Kirk edged away from him.  
"What did I do? What's wrong?" 

Spock blinked, remembering his presence, and turned to  
look at him. His expression was unreadable, but it  
certainly wasn't his usual impassivity. "I," he  
enunciated carefully, "am not an organic computer."

"I -- I never thought you were."

"No..." Spock relaxed slowly. "Not you. Vulcan. But...  
surely there is more..." He looked down at his hands.  
"I do not think we were meant to stop there. I do not  
think even my father would have been satisfied with an  
organic computer. I think I... have made a basic  
error."

Part 7

"What error?" Kirk edged closer. "Can I help?"

Spock looked at him. *For his sake, I must not  
refuse...* "Perhaps you can. Certainly, I have no idea  
where to begin. I must..." He looked away, self-  
conscious again. "After all these years of pursuing too  
narrow an ideal, I must find what there is to life --  
my own, specifically -- beyond mere existence and  
logical function." *McCoy would be outrageously pleased  
to hear that... How fortunate that we are alone!*

Kirk dutifully applied himself to the problem. The only  
answer he could think of was a ridiculously simple one.  
"Would you believe me if I said: 'feelings?'"

"I think that is too general a term." Spock gave him a  
faint, sardonic smile. "Need I remind you that some  
'feelings' are hazardous to one's health?"

"Uhm, no..." *That means he understands his danger!*  
Kirk thought. *Maybe this -- this 'philosophical'  
approach is the only way he can deal with it. Help  
him!* He looked about for some answer, and noticed the  
color of the light streaming through the windows. "How  
about, uhm, 'aesthetic appreciation?'"

"Indeed." *I had forgotten that. Vulcans are allowed to  
appreciate beauty in art... perhaps also in Nature.  
This area looks promising.* "What would you suggest  
that I appreciate?"

Kirk grinned and tossed Spock's clothes at him. "Get  
into these, and then let's go out and watch the  
sunset."

Spock complied without comment. Kirk pulled his  
trousers on, picked Spock up, carried him out of the  
cabin and down to the lake shore. They sat on the grass  
and watched the sun setting over the edge of the hills,  
the changing light turning the water to multi-colored  
fire.

Just as the last of the solar disk disappeared, there  
came a faint rustling among the low bushes and a troop  
of little horse-shaped animals emerged. The two held  
perfectly still, and after a moment the shy creatures  
ventured down to the water's edge to drink.

"Look," Kirk whispered. "They're unicorns."

Spock shook his head slightly. The tiny equines  
actually possessed two horns, though they were very  
closely set and tightly spiraled together. Nor were the  
beasts the snowy color of legend; their coats were a  
remarkable dark green, spotted with pale blue.  
*Camouflage,* Spock guessed. *They could hide readily  
under those blue-flowered bushes...*

At that moment, one of the neo-unicorns turned to look  
at them, ears pricked forward, nostrils flared. Kirk  
did his best to imitate a tree stump. Cautiously, the  
little creature stepped forward to investigate them.  
*Doubtless our scent is different from that of local  
predators,* Spock thought. *Still, its fearlessness is  
surprising.*

The unicorn came closer, sniffed Spock's knee, poked  
him experimentally with its horn, decided he was  
harmless, and amiably rested its chin on his thigh.  
Intrigued, Spock stretched out a slow and careful hand.  
The unicorn sniffed his fingers and flicked wary ears,  
but didn't withdraw. Very gently, Spock reached down  
and stroked the silky coat. His hand covered the little  
unicorn's back. The tiny creature leaned against the  
stroking hand clearly enjoying itself.

"I don't believe it," Kirk whispered, not meaning to be  
overheard.

Spock did hear that. He looked up in surprise. The  
unicorn snorted softly, pulled away, and trotted back  
to its herd. "Believe what, Jim?"

"Ah, I was just thinking out loud, that's all," Kirk  
evaded, furiously embarrassed and hoping it didn't  
show. "Nothing important, really."

*Encourage communication!* "We did agree to share  
our... thoughts," Spock reminded, "no matter how  
unimportant."

"Well, this is, ah, embarrassing," Kirk squirmed.  
"Something I really have no right to ask about..."

"We agreed not to allow embarrassment to inhibit  
communication."

"Uh, true..." Kirk gnawed his lip. "I was just thinking  
of the, er, legend of the unicorn. It's an obscure bit  
of Earth mythology."

"Indeed. I have not heard of it. What is this legend?"

"Oh, just that..." Kirk realized he was blushing.  
"Well, the unicorn is supposed to be a symbol of  
purity, and very shy of people. The only kind of person  
a unicorn will come to, voluntarily, is a -- a virgin.  
Of course, that doesn't apply to real unicorns. It's  
just a legend."

Spock blinked, tightly controlling his physiological  
reactions. *I did insist. He did warn me. We did  
agree... Communicate.* "Yes," he said stiffly, looking  
away. "The legend is correct in that particular."

"What?!" Kirk gaped at him. "You mean you -- Not ever?  
Not once? Not even with -- Uh, I'm sorry. I have no  
right to ask. Please forget I said anything."

*Communicate! Regardless of personal... sensibilities.*  
"You may ask, Jim." Spock's voice was a marvel of  
serenity. "The answer to your question is no."

'But..." Kirk stared at him, face printed with lines of  
concern, sympathy and bewilderment. "Leila. You said  
she made you happy."

Spock blinked at that. He had never really understood  
the emotional effects of human sexuality. To link  
completed mating with the relief of tension he could  
comprehend, but to equate it with the positive quality  
of 'happiness' was beyond him. Perhaps the progression  
was automatic for humans. *Or for Vulcans? How should I  
know? I have never completed...* "We did not advance  
beyond the ... courtship behavior. For their own  
preservation, the spores discouraged violent emotions.  
You recall the extreme efforts you were obliged to make  
in order to, as you put it, 'get under that thick  
Vulcan hide' of mine."

"Yes. I'm still sorry about that, Spock. You know I  
didn't mean any of those things."

"I know. Only the spores made it necessary. They also  
prevented us from attaining an effective level of...  
excitement." He paused, trying to think of an exact  
description. "It was very strange, very pleasant,  
vague... but incomplete. I suspect that most of my  
enjoyment was due to the spores. They kept me in a  
constant euphoric haze." The bitterness in his own  
voice surprised him.

"But you were happy." Kirk sighed. "And I took that  
away from you."

"I do not wish to purchase happiness at such a price."

"I understand." Kirk looked away.

*I should not have said that.* Spock kicked himself  
mentally. *He might easily assume that a better price  
would be his life!* "I mean... I do not wish to give up  
my mind..." *Badly phrased!*

"Of course not." Kirk pulled up a few blades of grass  
and rolled then in his fingers. "You mean you've never  
been happy when you weren't somehow... mentally  
incapacitated?"

Spock thought a long time over that. "I don't know," he  
finally admitted. 'Ignoring my emotions has been second  
nature to me for so long... I may have been happy  
without knowing it.."

"It's possible, then."

"It is not impossible."

"That's a beginning." *-- and I'm a damned fool! Kirk  
thought. *He doesn't know how to be happy, and all I do  
is ask if he's ever gotten laid! Some help you are,  
James T.!* "Ah well, the last light's gone. Let's go to  
dinner."

He stood, stretched, carefully lifted Spock carried him  
back to the cabin.

Part 8

The lunch leftovers were sufficient for dinner. The two  
spoke little over the food, and afterwards, Kirk left  
Spock to build up the fire for the night while he went  
to see if the bath-water was still warm. It wasn't, but  
he used it anyway. When he came out, wrapped in a towel  
and shivering a little, Spock had a respectable blaze  
going in the fireplace. Kirk watched a moment, yawned  
enormously, and remembered the time.

"Decision, Spock. Do you want the bed or the sleeping  
bag near the fire?"

"I prefer the temperature here, if that would not be an  
inconvenience to you."

"Fine with me." Kirk dug out a sleeping bag and spread  
it on the hearthrug.

"It might also be wise to refill the solar collector."

"Right." Kirk went back to the bathroom and worked the  
pump until the indicator registered full. It was slow  
and tiresome work, and when he'd finished, he was more  
than ready for bed. He came back to the main room to  
find Spock wrapped in the sleeping bag with only his  
face showing.

"Sure you'll be comfortable there?"

"Quite sure. I wish you a satisfying rest period."

"Sweet dreams to you, too." Kirk felt his way back to  
the shadowed bed, shed his towel and slid under the  
blankets. He glanced at Spock again, reassuringly  
visible in the firelight, and breathed a silent prayer  
for understanding. *Please be happy,* he thought. *Find  
a way...*

Spock lay awake behind closed eyes, listening to Kirk's  
breathing amid the small sounds of the house, and  
reviewing the day's events. *We have," he concluded,  
*not begun badly. Communication established, though as  
yet only on irrelevant (not to mention indelicate)  
topics... No matter. If it facilitates his recovery, I  
will discuss anything from techniques of cannibalism to  
the history of the Vulcan toilet design... (Or my own  
philosophical problem.) Yes, I might benefit there from  
his assistance. (Need assistance! How can I help him  
until I solve that problem?) Besides, he desires to  
help. (And isn't that the secondary cause of _his_  
problem? By all means, channel it into something  
harmless, even beneficial.) Yes, mutual benefit in  
pursuing this line of study. We should make more  
progress tomorrow.*

That decided, he rolled on his back and blanked his  
mind and dutifully went to sleep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Kirk awoke to the soft sunlight in his face, feeling  
more relaxed than he'd been in ages. There was no need  
to get up right away; no duties, no pressing business,  
no reason not to lie in bed awhile and enjoy the warmth  
and quiet. He snuggled deeper into the pillow. Then his  
stomach growled. *Well, that's one good reason...* He  
sighed, stretched and got out of bed.

Spock was apparently still asleep, bundled up in the  
sleeping bag like a caterpillar in its cocoon. Perhaps  
he was cold; the fire was out, baked down to a pile of  
ashes and few miniscule coals. Kirk sidled carefully  
around the sleeping Vulcan, positioned some more wood  
in the fireplace and blew on the coals until a steady  
flame appeared. Satisfied that the fire would last, he  
padded off to the kitchen. There was almost no food  
left -- only some tea and a few handfuls of nuts and  
mushrooms -- enough for a light breakfast, but no more.  
*That decides the next order of business,* he thought,  
pouring the food into two bowls.

When he came back to the main room, he saw that Spock  
was awake -- or at least lying on his back with his  
eyes open. Belatedly remembering his own nudity, Kirk  
set down the bowls, put the kettle on the fire and went  
to fetch his clothes. He dressed slowly, but Spock  
still hadn't gotten up by the time he was done. Kirk  
shrugged, set the bowls near the fireplace and threw in  
some more wood. When the teakettle whistled noisily and  
Spock still hadn't moved, Kirk began to worry.

"Breakfast's ready," he offered, pulling the kettle  
aside and throwing in the tea-ball. "Aren't you getting  
up today?"

Spock stirred a little in the sleeping bag, then  
stopped. "I... appear to have miscalculated," he  
admitted. "Despite my proximity to the fire, I find  
myself... immobilized by cramps."

"So much for sleeping on the floor!" Kirk opened the  
sleeping bag and rolled Spock onto his stomach.  
"Tonight you get the bed." He sat down at Spock's feet  
and began massaging him briskly.

The Vulcan shivered in the chill air, flinched a few  
times as Kirk's diligent hands found sore spots, and  
patiently resigned himself to the necessary discomfort.  
After a few moments though, as the sunlight made  
progress through the solar collector and the fire got  
to the larger logs, the temperature ceased to bother  
him. The sore muscles took longer, but in time that  
discomfort faded, too. In fact, the relief was  
noticeably enjoyable. *Danger here,* Spock considered,  
idly rubbing his cheek against the satiny lining of the  
sleeping bag. *To enjoy relief from pain, one must  
first be in pain, (perhaps even seek it for that  
reason)... Yes, dangerously easy to fall into that  
pattern. (Beware the delights of subtle masochism.) It  
might almost deceive (seduce) me, too. Take care. I am  
here to lead him out of this error, not fall into it  
myself.*

Kirk eventually worked his way up to the shoulders,  
gave Spock's hair a playful riffling, then sat back and  
shook out his arms. "Is that better?"

"Quite sufficient." Spock reached for his clothes. He  
managed the shirts well enough, the trousers with some  
difficulty, and had serious trouble with his socks.  
Kirk came over and helped him into them, and both  
boots. Spock remembered to thank him.

"Least I could do." Kirk smiled, got up and fetched the  
bowls and cups.

They ate the meager breakfast in companionable silence.  
Afterwards, Kirk did the dishes while Spock hunted up a  
large food basket and the guidebook. Kirk came back  
from the kitchen to see Spock tottering across the room  
on the crutches, attempting to carry both book and  
basket, and shook his head. "No way you can manage like  
that," he decreed, firmly taking the crutches away and  
lifting the bemused Vulcan in his arms. "Oof. Besides,  
I need the exercise." To prove it, he lumbered out the  
door and off the path, up into the thick woods until  
the labored sound of his breathing grew alarmingly  
loud.

"Jim, please stop," Spock finally insisted. "There is  
no need to over-exert yourself in this manner."

Kirk stopped, letting Spock's feet slide to the ground,  
privately grateful Spock had called for a halt. For all  
his leanness, the Vulcan was heavy. "Thought you  
wanted... to see the wildlife," he panted, grinning.

"Not at the expense of your health." Spock delicately  
tested the amount of weight he could rest on his  
untrustworthy legs. "I assure you, there is abundant  
opportunity for observation, as well as food gathering,  
without prolonged-- oof!"

"Easy!" Kirk caught him under the arm and gently  
lowered him to the ground. "You're right. This is far  
enough."

He sat down and opened the guidebook on both their  
laps. They leaned over it, shoulders rubbing, studying  
the illustrations on the pages and looking around the  
glade for examples. Kirk identified some available  
mushrooms, berries, and a few fruit trees. Spock noted  
some edible leaves, roots and mosses. Kirk got up to do  
the gathering, framing a playful comment about rabbit  
food, then stopped in mid-motion.

A small troop of elephantoids entered the glade, saw  
the two intruders, and stopped short in a flurry of  
waving trunks and flapping ears. They were shaped  
exactly like terrestrial Indian elephants, save for  
their disproportionately large, artfully-curved tusks  
and their long, woolly, orange-brown hair. The largest  
of them stood no more than fourteen inches high.

"Mammoths!" Kirk whispered, entranced. "They're little  
woolly mammoths!"

"The term 'mammoth' does not seem to apply," Spock  
noted.

"'Minimoths', then. Aren't they cute?"

"I have observed that humans apply that term to  
creatures whose behavior would be undeniably dangerous  
if the subject were a hundred times larger."

The minimoths shuffled backward, looking for a path  
around the dangerously occupied glade. One young bull,  
unwilling to retreat without a show of strength, ran a  
few paces forward and trumpeted shrilly. An older cow  
came after him, took his tail firmly in her trunk, and  
imperiously pulled. The young bull retreated,  
grumbling.

Kirk burst out laughing. Startled, Spock looked up at  
him. Such joy seemed so easy, so natural, for humans,  
so harmless, even... almost logical.

Against the background of a white flowering tree, Kirk  
seemed to be made all of red, gold and dark bronze.  
Spock felt an odd pang of indefinable emotion.  
*Beautiful,* he thought. *You are beautiful in this  
moment... a phenomenon so fleeting, so ephemeral... yet  
I wish to keep it... (Illogical.) Beautiful.* He  
watched, silent and intent, as Kirk took the basket and  
strolled around the little clearing, picking various  
plants, moving in and out of the mote-filled bars of  
honey-colored sunlight. *Aesthetic appreciation is  
allowed,* he remembered. *I cannot recall ever seeing  
anything more beautiful... Oh, to think of that  
destroyed, ruined, damaged, only because of-- It must  
not be!*

Right then, as if his thoughts had summoned it, he saw  
this Eden's serpent. A lizard, actually: thick-tailed,  
dull black-scaled, balancing on its muscular hind legs,  
its disproportionately-huge head eighty percent massive  
jaws stuffed with bristling, sharp teeth. It stood no  
higher than Kirk's knee -- which it studied from its  
leafy ambush, less than a yard away -- with stupid,  
ill-tempered, tiny red eyes.

*'Tiny Tyrannosaurus.' Not cute. Not safe!* "Jim! Look  
to your right!" Spock lunged forward, sprawling full-  
length on the thick moss. The impact jarred loose a  
thread of logic that whispered cold facts: the distance  
was too far, his pace too slow, and he would never  
cross the clearing in time. He ignored it and crawled  
forward.

Kirk turned and looked. It took him only a few seconds  
to spot the ugly upright lizard in the underbrush. He  
didn't draw his phaser, despite Spock's fervent hopes;  
he only stood still and looked. The tyrannosaurus  
looked back, red eyes briefly darkening in a slow  
blink. Kirk gave a dry laugh, reached down and picked  
up a handful of pebbles. The lizard arched its neck and  
dropped its lower jaw, plainly meaning to attack.

"Jim!" Spock pleaded, clawing his way through the grass  
clumps.

Kirk threw one of the pebbles. It his the tyrannosaurus  
neatly on the tip of its leathery nose. The lizard  
squawked like a rusty gate hinge, and bent to rub the  
sore spot with its tiny front paws. The next pebble  
smacked into the top of its bent head. The  
tyrannosaurus snapped its head up, too far back, and  
wobbled dizzily. The third pebble whapped into its  
exposed belly and knocked it over backward.

Spock stopped where he was, sagging with relief.

The lizard was extraordinarily helpless on its back; it  
squawked and rolled and paddled the air with its paws,  
either too stupid or too ill-coordinated to get easily  
back to its feet. Kirk studied it, laughed again, and  
turned away from it with no further thought.

"You could have used the phaser..." Spock whispered,  
staring at his hands until they stopped clutching the  
grass. "Unnecessary risk!"

"Spock, are you all right?" Kirk came over to him,  
trailing the loaded basket. "Did you crawl this far?  
Here, let me pick you up."

"Stop that!" Spock rolled over and fiercely clutched  
Kirk's arm. "You should have used your phaser the  
moment you saw it!"

Part 9

"Uha-- For a little lizard like that? Why, a kick  
would've killed it. Why waste a stun charge when a  
handful of pebbles--"

"It could be dangerous! It might have poisonous fangs!"  
*--untrue.* "The risk was completely unnecessary, and  
you must stop that: Stop exposing yourself to danger  
for-- " *What am I saying?!* "--for such illogical...  
unnecessary..." *What is my face revealing?* Spock  
closed his mouth and looked away.

*...For only a lizard...* Kirk thought, staring at him.  
*So much... Don't lose it. Seize the time.* He sat down  
beside Spock and gently rubbed the Vulcan's stiff  
knees.

"Spock, it's all right. I..." *Why is it so hard to say  
those words?* "I love you, too."

Spock blinked, astonished. *Success!* one part of his  
mind cheered. The rest reverberated strangely. He could  
not stop to think of that now. *Communication-- at  
depth, at the heart of the problem. Do not lose the  
opportunity, or he may never again... (But what to  
say?)* "Jim, I..." *How can I say 'love' when I'm not  
sure what it means?*

"Is it so hard to say the words?"

"Yes. I am... so unsure..."

"I understand. You don't have to say it."

*But I must! For your sake! "I do... care... that you  
should not suffer..." *And more... (What more?)... I  
don't know. I have never fully examined my own...  
(Failings? Lapses? Indiscretions?) Only repressed. "I  
cannot explain further."

"Can you tell me..." Kirk didn't look at him. "What  
would make you happy? In your right mind, I mean--  
not clouded with joy-flowers or time-changes or...  
anything, but... just as you are, right now."

*Good question,* Spock considered, looking up at the  
sky. *Concept never analyzed (or even fully defined).  
...Satisfaction of desire? Perhaps. (But desire for  
what? What do I desire from life?) Life itself, of  
course. Survival ... (But not just existence.)  
Intelligence also, and not to be in pain... nor to see  
him suffer. (Negatives! Negative values again.) This  
problem again... (What solutions did Jim offer?)  
'Aesthetic appreciation'... (of which Vulcan approves)  
and that shadowy (dangerous) realm of 'feelings' (of  
which Vulcan does not approve)...* He gave a very  
humanlike sigh. "I do not know, Jim. I honestly do not  
know."

"How can I help, then?" Kirk sounded defeated.

"Perhaps..." *That's it: I want to know--* He whipped  
his face around to look at Kirk. "I want to find the  
answer to my philosophical problem. I do not know if  
the solution would make me... happy, but there would be  
satisfaction, at least." *That, too, is part of the  
problem. 'Satisfaction' is merely the ending of a  
negative state; 'happiness' as humans define it, is  
something more... distinctly positive. I do not know if  
such positive states are even possible for a Vulcan.*

"Spock, I'm no philosopher."

"That is not what I need." *Indeed, Vulcan is full of  
philosophers, and I have never heard that any of them  
conclusively dealt with this problem...* He sighed  
again. *'When in doubt, observe'* "I need facts, data,  
observation. You have always been most efficient at  
providing opportunities for that."

"I have?" Kirk scratched his head, completely at sea.  
*'Observation?' What the hell is there to observe  
around here, except me and a lot of little animals...?*  
"Well, in that case... uhm... Come on, let's go look at  
some wildlife." He retrieved the guidebook and loaded  
basket, helped Spock to his feet, and half-carried him  
back down toward the lake.

They moved slowly, stopping often, and the unstartled  
wildlife showed itself in abundance. There was a little  
red predatory bird, halfway between an elf-owl and a  
sparrow-hawk, that Kirk nicknamed a Red Eagle. It sat  
on the highest point of a rose-like hedge, studying  
them with burnished golden eyes, and Kirk smiled at it  
with a child's delight. Spock feared that Kirk would  
reach out and try to pet it, or offer it a finger to  
perch on, and get nastily pecked for his trouble; but  
the bird sidled cautiously away and finally took to the  
air with three hard strokes of its superbly designed  
wings. Kirk's expression, watching it go, was every bit  
as arresting as the sight of the bird itself.

*He sees something that I do not,* Spock noted,  
suppressing a twinge of envy. *Some power of  
appreciation.. some ability that makes human art and  
music so highly prized, as even my father admits...*

And then there were the bee-snakes: yard-long vipers  
with temperature-regulating sailfins on their back, a  
mated pair that had set up housekeeping in a hollow  
tree not far from the lake. The male secreted wax from  
gill-like slits behind the jaws, and the female --  
according to the guidebook -- secreted an excellent  
grade of honey. Kirk examined the tree, neatly avoiding  
the noisily threatening snakes, and estimated that the  
tree must be packed full of honeycombs.

"Far more than they need," he added, a hungry glint in  
his eye. "We could come back with a bucket, set the  
phaser on minimum stun, and get ourselves some  
dessert."

It took ten minutes of Spock's best arguing to make  
Kirk even postpone the raid. *What is so appealing  
about wild honey,* Spock wondered as Kirk carried him  
on down the trail, *that it could inspire him so? Such  
a wasteful expenditure of time and energy, not to  
mention unnecessary disturbance of the animals -- only  
for a 'dessert'... Is this simple territorial greed,  
claiming the land and everything on it as his property?  
Or is there some hidden meaning, personal or cultural,  
which adds importance to the goal?*

"My dad once took me and Sam with him to raid a honey  
tree," Kirk answered the unspoken question as if he'd  
heard it. "One of my happiest memories of him. He was  
so seldom home... Anyway, this tree was full of wild  
bees -- not just two snakes -- and we had to stun them  
with smoke, so dad built a fire..."

Spock listened, entranced, through the whole recital.  
He hadn't realized that humans made such a point of not  
killing the honey-producing animals. Smoke-stunning was  
a logical and humane method -- and also a risky one.  
Kirk was an excellent story-teller, and Spock could  
easily imagine the scene.

"... and we ate that honey for the next year," Kirk  
finished. "We put it on bread and muffins, and mom  
baked it in cakes and cookies, and preserved fruit in  
it: pears, apricots, cherries... I remember dad put  
some of the honeyed fruit in a jar with some really  
good bourbon, and we let it sit until the next time he  
came home. It made a drink you wouldn't believe! It was  
especially good over ice cream. We had that for dessert  
on his last night home..." Kirk frowned abstractly.  
"That was the last we ever saw of him. He never came  
home again."

"I grieve with thee," Spock said, startling himself.

"It's all right now. That was nearly thirty years ago."

*But the mark remains,* Spock marveled. *All those  
associations, and doubtless more, revolving about a  
tree of wild honey! Amazing... Is this the secret  
ability of humans? This breadth of association... a  
talent for holistic thinking. They can think sideways  
('sideways?') as well as directly ahead, from point to  
point... Of course, this can lead readily to prejudice,  
superstition, clouded logic, if the associations are  
inaccurate. Human history is full of such examples.  
(And yet... they are among the most vigorous,  
progressive and explorative species in the Federation.)  
...Unlike Vulcans.*

That thought jarred him. He scarcely noticed as Kirk  
set him down on a patch of long grass beside the lake  
and went off to inspect the miniature brontosauri  
feeding in the adjacent marsh. Spock lay back on the  
grass, stretched a protective arm over the food basket,  
and continued with his analytical meditation.

*Vulcan: declining population, culturally  
introspective, unmistakable signs of stagnation before  
Federation membership... (and after?)* He paused to  
consider how strange it was that he had never thought  
precisely of this before, though he had grown up with  
the facts in plain view all around him. The truth had  
always been visible, accepted as the weather, never  
really examined, not with this intensity. *'Can't see  
the woods for the trees.' ... 'None so blind as those  
who will not see.' (Human proverbs!) ... True, though.  
Perhaps living among humans gave me enough distance for  
perspective.*

He raised his head to look for Kirk, and saw him  
crouching precariously on a log in the marsh with one  
arm stretched out. A careful look revealed that he was  
holding out a handful of succulent weed, trying to  
entice the little brontos to come and eat it. The  
brontos, like most other animals on this planet, showed  
remarkably little fear of people. They were also  
excellent mimics; they copied Kirk's crooning tone  
almost perfectly.

A faint smile twitching the corners of his mouth, Spock  
ascertained that Kirk's only possible danger might be  
falling off the log into less than two feet water and  
mud; annoying, but not hazardous. He lay back on the  
grass, oddly touched by the little scene. *Humans,* he  
thought fondly, *attempting to 'make friends' wherever  
they go. Illog-- No, not illogical. Not at all. A  
'friend' is a person with whom one shares... affection.  
Affection precludes violence, harm or even discomfort,  
if possible... ("I'm still sorry about that, Spock...  
You know I didn't mean any of those things..." Yes,  
Jim. I understand.) One cannot do harm to a friend  
without hurting oneself worse. (I know.) That is an  
automatic reaction, reliable as instinct, in its own  
way as effective as logic... ...Perhaps even better.*

Spock sat up quickly, gasping at the sheer effrontery  
of that thought, but unable to deny it. He stared  
blankly at Kirk feeding the tiny dinosaurs, while the  
elegant heresy unfolded in his mind.

*What if... emotions are not irrational and chaotic,  
but have a hidden logic of their own? What if... one  
could purposefully use one's emotions, harness them,  
instead of just repressing them? What if... this is the  
secret of human vitality, a secret Vulcans lost long  
ago -- or perhaps never possessed? (What if... this were  
the reasons my father took a human wife?!) Is that why  
father so badly wanted me to go to the Vulcan Science  
Academy? Did he hope that I might inherit all those  
ill-understood human abilities, use them to rescue  
Vulcan from its dangerous stagnation, give our culture  
something better than negative goals? But I didn't. I  
took my valuable genes (and brain) and ran off to  
space. Lost his hope for saving Vulcan-- No wonder he  
was so displeased! (Upset? Enraged?) Logical. (My  
father, a cultural radical!) It would explain  
everything...*

The idea galloped around and around in his memories,  
touching solid bases everywhere. He sat still and let  
it run, observing, matching up thousands of bits of  
relevant data, wishing to all the ancient gods of  
Vulcan that he had access to the Enterprise's Library  
computer at this moment. Data-matching in his own  
memory was so slow, he might take days, even weeks,  
sorting and testing...

"Spock, are you all right?" Kirk crouched beside the  
motionless Vulcan and waved one hand in front of his  
unseeing eyes. "Spock?"

Spock blinked, snapped back to awareness of his  
surroundings, and noted that Kirk was holding a  
dripping wet handkerchief that bulged with unknown  
cargo.

"I am quite well. What do you have there?"

"A hanky full of lake fish." Kirk opened the  
handkerchief, revealing his glittering prize. "Enough  
for two meals. The lake's full of them."

"Indeed?" *Test. Ask him-- * "Why did you bother to  
catch them, when you could easily have taken one of  
those miniature brontosauri?"

Kirk flinched back, eyes astonished and disbelieving.  
"Wha-- Take -- Kill one of the brontos? After I went to  
such trouble to make friends with them? Hell, no! I  
couldn't."

Spock nodded to himself, noting that test results  
confirmed a portion of his theory. "Then you are  
generally incapable of killing personal acquaintances,  
whether intelligent beings or not?"

"I... guess so." Kirk looked down at his double-handful  
of fish. He remembered last night's promise. "They have  
to be strangers, or..." He frowned, thinking. When he  
spoke again, his voice was much quieter. "There've been  
one or two people I knew -- knew fairly well -- that I  
really hated -- really wanted to kill. They'd earned it,  
believe me."

"Kodos?" Spock suggested.

"Yes." Kirk studied the kerchief-full of black and  
silver fish, noting that there were enough of them for  
two good meals. That much food would have been worth a  
human life, once. "Lord, how I hated that man! Yes, I  
wanted him dead -- wanted to do it myself, if I could.  
But when I finally caught up to him..." He shivered  
silently. "There was nothing there. Just a tired old  
man with a crazy daughter, nothing so big and dangerous  
as to be worth all that... that hating... At the end, I  
pitied him." Kirk shook himself, wrapped up the fish,  
and put the little bundle into the food basket.

"Remarkable." *Predictable: increased acquaintance  
increases probability of affection, thereby precluding  
violence, save for considerable cause.  
(Irreversibility?) ... Test.*

"Have there been any persons for whom you felt actual  
affection whom you later came to hate?"

"Yes." Kirk jabbed the collected food deeper into the  
basket. "Janice Lester." *I don't want to talk about  
her, about that... But we must... I promised... "I  
really did love her once. It didn't work out. We  
didn't... didn't fit each other. We parted with a lot  
of bad feeling, and I thought that was the last of it.  
It wasn't. After... what she did to me..." He sat back  
on his heels and clutched his arms, hard. "Yes, I  
wanted to kill her! I wanted to wring her vicious neck,  
smash her face in, break every bone in her... Damn!" He  
shuddered, appalled at how much hate he still felt.

Spock eyed him keenly. "Yet, when you had the  
opportunity, you did nothing of the sort."

"No..." Kirk looked down at his hands and carefully  
opened them. "When the... exchange snapped, when she  
howled that she'd lost, and then collapsed so  
completely... That was enough. The hatred changed,  
diffused, turned into a kind of... pity." He blinked,  
surprised. "Like with Kodos."

"Fascinating," murmured Spock. *It _is_ a logical  
pattern! Automatic checks on aggression: spectrum of  
acquaintance to affection, overcome with great  
difficulty and only for extreme cause, and even then  
the resultant hatred diffused by clear proof that one's  
'target' is reduced to complete helplessness. Quite  
logical. (Wisdom of Nature.) Instincts too are selected  
for survival value...*

"I don't quite understand it myself." Kirk put the  
basket aside and lay down on the grass by Spock. "I  
guess I wasn't cut out to be a philosopher... Sorry,  
Spock. I just don't know how to help you with that kind  
of problem."

"On the contrary, Jim; you have helped me much."

"Huh? How?"

"By feeding brontosauri -- and feeding upon fish."

"Huhh?"

"I believe it is time for lunch."

"Oh. Right." Kirk got up, helped Spock to his feet,  
handed him the basket, and half-carried him back to the  
cabin.

 

They were less than five meters from the door when they  
saw the new intruder perched on the doorstep. It was  
small, somewhat round, and completely covered with  
shaggy golden fur. For one horrible moment, Spock  
thought it was a tribble.

"What the hell?" said Kirk, stopping.

The noise drew the little beast's attention. It turned  
around, showing two beady eyes in a tangle of hair,  
squeaked with alarm, then went into what looked like a  
dancing fit. It stamped, bounced, whirled and cavorted,  
keeping up a constant cry of "Eek-eek-eek-eek!" The  
display was clearly meant to impress and frighten. All  
it did to Kirk was make him laugh.

"Hee--hee--'yuk'. I've heard of 'having a snit,' but I've  
never seen one before! Haw!"

"I believe that is a small rodent, similar to an Earth  
chipmunk," Spock elucidated, "but possessing unusually  
long fur. The scientific name is--"

"It's a Snit, that's what," Kirk chuckled, pulling  
Spock to one side off the trail. "Here, let's give it  
room to escape."

Seeing a chance, the Snit took it. With surprising  
speed, the small golden blur shot off the doorstep,  
down the path, and into a safe hidey-hole somewhere in  
the bushes. Kirk laughed again, watching it go.

"Moves like a chipmunk, anyway. Hmm... I recall that  
squirrel family makes good eating. Do you think that  
critter has any larger cousins around?"

"There is a related species, comparatively larger, but  
much slower and less intelligent. Why do you ask?" *...  
as if I couldn't guess.*

"It might make good eating, too." Kirk helped Spock to  
the table, and took the basket. "These fish are fine,  
but I imagine I'd get sick of them in short order if I  
didn't try something else now and again."

Spock shuddered delicately, but didn't comment. He  
could guess also that Kirk had no intention of hunting  
the Snit that had appeared on the doorstep. By making  
him laugh, the little creature had gained his  
acquaintance -- also a degree of affection -- and was  
therefore safe from him. *Is this a constant of human  
behavior?* Spock steepled his fingers and went back to  
correlating observed examples. Meanwhile, Kirk set  
about making lunch.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

After lunch, they went out to hunt unicorns. They  
didn't find any; only more birds, a few of the tiny  
bears, and a meadow full of wild flowers that Kirk  
insisted on rolling in. After that, he stretched out  
for a brief nap while Spock sat beside him and  
meditated.

The shadows lengthened. Spock sighed, shook a cramp out  
of his left arm, and leaned back on his elbows. He had  
run out of observed data in only a few hours, and the  
working hypothesis still worked. *Item,* he reviewed,  
*life involves more than just negative values (example:  
Vulcan, with its declining birth rate and cultural  
stagnation). Item: Humans appear to possess  
(unconsciously?) knowledge of positive values which  
Vulcans lack, and sorely need (which is quite possibly  
why I was born.) Item: Said knowledge includes the  
deliberate harnessing, manipulation and use (rather  
than repression) of emotions (observed example:  
affection). Addenda: Emotions not used properly in this  
fashion tend to turn on the possessor and cause  
destructive/self-destructive behavior (example: Jim).*

He turned to look at Kirk, noting the faint smile on  
the relaxed and sleeping face, the strong jaw and  
sensitive mouth, the amazingly long eyelashes, the  
thick bronze hair with a random wildflower tangled in  
it. *-- So beautiful! So infinitely valuable...* He  
carefully reached over and pulled a few strands of  
loose hair away from Kirk's forehead. Again, that pang  
of nameless feeling shot through him. He yearned to do  
something, but didn't know what it was. *Show me... I  
must learn something from you... these alien skills  
(Vulcan lacks) for the positive dimension. Aesthetic  
appreciation I know (you are beautiful). Perhaps I  
could learn human techniques of emotion management also  
(Shocking!) -- purely for scientific purposes, of  
course! (And for Jim...) ... But how? The only example  
I have seen is the use of affection ... (Jim's  
affection.) Perhaps... just as well. Since I must aid  
him in finding safe outlets for that emotion, I can  
also observe, learn, practice ... Indeed, the solution  
to both our problems. Parallel...*

A gold and black imitation butterfly perched on Kirk's  
nose. He sneezed it away, opened his eyes and rolled  
over. He saw Spock watching him as though he were the  
most fascinating sight in the galaxy.

"Are you okay?" he couldn't help asking.

"Certainly. Did you sleep well?"

"Umm hmm. Sweet dreams..." *Go on. Don't hold back  
anything.* "I dreamed about Earth -- lazy summers in  
Iowa, berry picking when I was little, a fishing trip  
with dad... Pity you don't fish. It's so relaxing...  
Hmm, and then I was back on the Enterprise, up on the  
bridge, watching you take sensor readings. Then I was  
here, with you, and it seemed like... a mixture of both  
worlds." Kirk smiled, almost shyly. "Then I woke up --  
and it was true."

"Fascinating." *...That is insufficient response. Say  
more.* "You are pleased to be here, with only myself  
for company?"

"Oh yes, Spock." Kirk reached out a shy hand, squeezed  
the Vulcan's shoulder, shook it gently.

"I am ... most gratified."

"Well, I'm a bit hungry. Let's head back and get  
ourselves a good seat for watching the sunset, and then  
we'll have dinner." Kirk stood up and stretched. As he  
turned to reach for Spock, the slanting sunlight caught  
his hair and transformed it into a glowing halo.

"Freeze," said Spock, enchanted with the image. "Hold  
that pose."

"Huh?" *Has he gone bananas?* "Er, like this?" Kirk  
held perfectly still.

"Yes, excellent." *How beautiful... 'Infinite Diversity  
in Infinite Combination creates forms of beauty... and  
meaning.' But what meaning?* He sat contemplating the  
image for several moments.

"Ah, Spock, my nose itches." *Are you sure you're all  
right?*

Spock remembered the other problem and snapped back to  
present time. "I regret having caused you discomfort.  
Let us go."

He held out his arms and Kirk gently pulled him to his  
feet. They walked back to the lake in silence.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

The little brontos recognized Kirk as he approached,  
and paddled near the shore whistling for his attention.  
"They learn fast," Kirk chuckled, setting Spock down on  
the short grass. "I wonder if they like berries?"

He hunted a berry bush, picked a handful of the fruit  
and strolled down to the marshy side of the lake. The  
brontos, seeing him come near, gave eager little cries  
that sounded remarkably like the Terran 'wolfwhistle'.  
Laughing, Kirk climbed out on the half-submerged log  
and fed the miniature dinosaurs one at a time, until  
all the berries were gone. Apparently satisfied, the  
brontos burped, chirped and went back to soaking  
themselves in the mud. Kirk hitched himself off the log  
and strode back to where Spock sat waiting. As he sat  
down, a flock of birds launched from a nearby tree and  
flew out over the lake, giving long melodious cries.  
The brontos raised their placid heads and whistled,  
imitating the birdcalls almost exactly.

"They are remarkable mimics," Spock pointed out.

"True, and they learn very fast -- at least, to  
recognize a good source of handouts. They loved the  
berries. I wonder why they don't come up on land and  
get their own."

"They are probably wary of the land predators." Spock  
sharply remembered the ugly tyrannosaurus. "I note that  
the appearance of the solar disk is changing."

"Sunset's beginning."

For the next forty minutes, the sun dropped through  
ribbons of high clouds, reddening as it fell, altering  
the colors of earth and cloud and sky. Dusk sounds  
accompanied the display; soft whinnies of the little  
unicorns, bird calls and bronto imitations, the yip and  
howl of something that sounded like a fox, and from  
somewhere in the wood the distant trumpeting of a  
minimoth.

*'Wild concert,'* Spock defined it, applying himself to  
Appreciation. *Beautiful. An aesthetic feast for the  
eyes and ears... (Strange. Why is the word 'beautiful'  
applied only to the use of those two senses?) Indeed,  
why not the other senses? Test. Touch, taste, smell...*  
Intrigued, he looked about for some proper test  
subject. *Flowers?* There were none handy. There was  
Kirk, however. To a predator-keen Vulcan nose, he  
presented a subtle concert of scents. Spock hitched  
closer, long nostrils flaring curiously.

At the first touch, Kirk almost jumped out of his skin.  
"What the hell? Spock?!"

"Please remain still. I am endeavoring to test...  
Hmmm..." Spock rested both hands firmly on Kirk's  
shoulders and nuzzled along his neck. Kirk sat  
obediently still, aside from his dropping jaw and  
rising goosebumps. "Yes," Spock murmured in his ear,  
"subtle but distinct differences." *...probably from  
varying occurrence of aprocrine glands. Hair differs  
from neck: cut-grass/fur versus musk/smoke/leather...  
Intriguing. Aesthetic evaluation: quite high.* "Yes,"  
he concluded, pulling away. "The term does apply."

"...'Term'?" Kirk asked, carefully turning around to  
stare at his bland-faced friend. *He's out of his  
gourd! Snapped his sombrero!* "Ah, what term?"

"'Beauty'," Spock dutifully explained, "can indeed be  
applied to scents as well as sights and sounds."

"Oh." It took Kirk a few seconds to realize that that  
was a roundabout -- and unorthodox -- compliment. He  
blushed. "Uhm... Thanks. You smell nice, too."

"Do I?" Spock raised an elegant eyebrow. "I was not  
aware that humans possessed a notable sense of smell."

"Not notable, just sufficient." Kirk noticed the  
darkening sky and his quietly complaining stomach.  
"Come on, let's go eat." That was a good enough cause  
to postpone this meandering, weird and worrisome  
conversation. "Let's see if the 'term' applies to  
taste, too."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

The meal was excellent, also uneventful, though Spock  
did add taste to his list. Afterwards, there were  
dishes to wash, firewood to arrange, and an amiable  
argument over who should use the solar collector's  
supply of hot water.

"I assure you," Spock insisted, "that I do not share  
the human proclivity for paddling about in fluid."

"And I assure you," Kirk rejoined, "that there are no  
sonic showers available, and after a few days without  
baths, you will certainly stop smelling like a nice,  
sweet house cat and start smelling like a not-so-sweet  
polecat. Now I got it last night, and besides, I can  
always go swim in the lake, so tonight's your turn."

"Very well," Spock conceded stiffly.

"Besides, it'll be good for your legs."

Spock rolled his eyes mournfully as Kirk picked him up  
and carried him into the bathroom. He allowed Kirk to  
help him undress and settle in the tub, then open the  
tap from the solar collector. The water was pleasantly  
hot -- in fact, Kirk needed reassurances that it wasn't  
_too_ hot -- and Spock grudgingly admitted that it did  
indeed relax his legs and back. Kirk pulled off his  
shirt, leaned over the tub, and helpfully applied the  
soap and scrub brush. Spock let himself enjoy the  
sensations, almost to the point of purring shamelessly.

"You like that?" Kirk enthused. "Thought so. I know I  
have an itchy spot right between my shoulderblades  
where I can't scratch, just there." He circled the  
brush on Spock's back.

"If you will bend closer, I shall attempt to aid you,"  
Spock offered.

"Huh? ... Uhm, okay." Kirk leaned forward. Spock  
reached up and scratched in an efficient circular  
pattern, noting in passing that the skin was quite  
smooth and the interplay of muscles was most  
intriguing. "Oh, yes," Kirk agreed, "right there.  
Mmmmmmm..."

"Fascinating," Spock marveled at Kirk's enjoyment.  
*Very little of this action is required to relieve  
irritation; I have continued beyond that point.  
Remarkable how relief (negative value) proceeds  
directly into pleasure (positive value) without  
noticeable interstice... For humans that is..  
(Different for Vulcans?) Of course. ...I think...*

"Ah, that's enough, thanks." Kirk pulled away. "I'd  
better do something about these clothes."

*Also,* Spock considered, *there is the limiting factor  
of enervation: repeated stimuli causing exhaustion of  
involved nerves. One would have to vary the  
stimulation, or else apply it to other zones, to allow  
the nerve-cells time to recover...*

"Damn, what are we going to do about laundry? Hand-  
wash, I suppose. Lots of work..." Kirk frowned,  
thinking that over. "You know, if the weather stays  
warm, it'd be easier just to go bare. For me anyway.  
You'd probably freeze your Vulcan b-- Er, well, I'll  
think of something."

Spock glanced at him, wondering -- for the thousandth  
time -- about the oddities of human tastes. *Still, if  
he has some psychological need for temporary nudity (in  
this chill climate?), I shall certainly not inhibit him  
by remaining clothed (brrr). "If the ambient  
temperature continues to rise at the perceived rate of  
the last fifty six hours," he offered, "I shall be  
quite comfortable without clothing in another two  
days." *--though I would prefer three...*

"Two days?" Kirk gulped, imagining Spock strolling  
though the meadows clad in nothing but his dignity.  
*But I brought it up... Or is this another symptom?  
...Then again, I don't know if Vulcans have any nudity  
taboos... Don't discourage him from anything harmless!*  
"All right, I guess I can wash clothes for two days.  
Let me go get the bed ready." Kirk picked up the  
clothes, and the remnants of his composure, and fled.

Spock didn't watch him leave; he was busy with the  
discovery that his knees could bend several degrees  
more than they did yesterday. There were, he conceded,  
some benefits to immersing oneself in hot water.

*...Wish the Enterprise were still in communicator  
range,* Kirk thought, spreading the sleeping bag on the  
hearthrug. *Ought to talk to McCoy. He'll never  
believe... 'Bones, Spock just suggested nudism, nuzzled  
my neck, and told me I'd helped with a philosophical  
problem by not eating a dinosaur. I think he's coming  
apart at the seams.' What answer? ... Probably, 'Keep  
him talking.' Right. Communicate. Express feelings. He  
doesn't know how to show love... for me...*

Kirk paused in mid-motion while pulling open the bed.  
*Omigod, is that what all this craziness means? Trying  
to find ways to say... trying things at random... and  
he has no idea how, or what the effect is...* He  
distinctly remembered that surprising action down by  
the lake, and felt the goosebumps return. *I ought to  
tell him,* he thought, scratching the back of his neck.  
*That gesture wasn't entirely harmless. It was...  
was... What?*

The thought slid out of reach, leaving him puzzled and  
faintly ashamed of himself. *No,* he decided, *it was  
harmless. Here, alone, just the two of us; no Vulcan,  
no Starfleet, no Earth (Iowa) to approve/disapprove of  
anything... anything that doesn't hurt him, risk him,  
make him risk himself. Yes, let him explore. We can fit  
the results to propriety later...* Kirk settled another  
log on the fire, stuffed the clothes into a duffel-bag,  
and went back to the bathroom.

Spock was nearly asleep in the water. He did no more  
than rise an eyebrow in welcome as Kirk leaned over the  
tub to drain out the water. He let Kirk help him out,  
dry him off, carry him out to the main room and settle  
him on the sleeping bag before the fire. He stretched  
comfortably while Kirk kneaded his legs, drowsing in  
the warmth and gentle fatigue as his mind toyed  
sleepily with Aesthetic Appreciation of the pattern of  
the fire. "It is possible..." he murmured.

"What is?" Kirk asked, carefully rubbing the muscles  
about Spock's left knee.

"It is possible to visualize recognizable shapes in the  
flames and glowing coals."

"Always knew it."

"Mmmm..." Spock let his eyes drift closed, sleepily  
considering the transition from relief to enjoyment  
might not be sharply defined for Vulcans, either. He  
had long since ceased to feel pain or even discomfort  
in his legs and back; in their place he felt a deep,  
vague, dreamy sense of well being, poised on the edge  
of sleep. An unnoticed purr rippled in his throat.

*Cat!* Kirk marveled, not interrupting the motion of  
his hands. *He's a cat! 'Felinoid descent'. Purring...  
Maybe I should scratch his ears.* He stretched out one  
hand and gently rubbed the soft skin behind those  
lovely Vulcan points. The purr deepened. *He likes it!*  
Kirk exulted. *Like any cat. Pet... Yes, yes, I've  
found something that makes him happy. As simple as  
that... and as harmless. Good, good. Keep him from  
risking, hurting himself, and worse... That means I'll  
have to keep on doing this, every night, from now on...  
And is that so difficult? So much of a burden? No.  
Cheap at the price. ...Besides, I... sort of... like it,  
myself...*

The soft purr died away into the slow breathing of  
sleep. Spock lay limp and immobile on the sleeping bag,  
the image of peace and innocence. *Pity to risk waking  
him,* Kirk thought, letting his hands drop, *but if he  
stays here he'll have cramps in the morning.* He sat  
down beside the sleeping Vulcan, idly running his  
fingers through the smooth, dark hair. *...Like  
silk...*

Right then, totally unexpected, came a vast wave of  
overwhelming tenderness, threatening to sweep Kirk away  
from his moorings to all common sense. He wanted to  
wrap Spock up in his arms, protect him from the whole  
fierce universe, beg him never to be hurt again... *My  
Lord, that's love! That's what Bones was trying to tell  
me! I don't know how to express love either! --At  
least, not to him... not in ways he can understand or  
accept... But I have to find them. For his sake... and  
maybe... even for mine.*

He shivered. *Cold in here,* he thought. *He'll feel  
it. Blankets. More firewood...* Very gently, he rolled  
Spock on his back, lifted him at the shoulders and  
knees, and carried him to the open bed. Spock stirred  
slightly, opening his eyes as his head settled on the  
pillow. "...Jim?"

"Yes," Kirk whispered, pulling up the blankets. "Go to  
sleep."

Spock blinked once and pronounced, softly but quite  
clearly, "The term does seem to apply to the sense of  
touch, too." His eyes closed.

"What?" *Did I really hear that?*

But Spock was asleep again.

Next day it rained. Kirk awoke to the unmistakable  
sound, swore quietly for a few moments, then got up and  
reached for his clothes. He noticed that the solar  
collector was overloaded and spilling. *Pity to waste  
all that rainwater...* He gathered up the laundry and  
went to the big tub in the bathroom.

Spock awoke to see Kirk, damp-haired and dressed in  
bluejeans, stringing a rope across the living room and  
hanging wet laundry on it. He thought he should offer  
to help, but the room temperature was painfully cold.  
He huddled deeper into the warm blankets, weighing the  
merits of risking cramps by huddling in the cold air  
while trying to build up the fire.

Kirk settled the question for him by building up the  
fire himself. Resinous brushwood flared up quickly,  
igniting the larger logs. The air soon warmed enough  
for Spock to poke his nose out. Kirk strode over,  
laughing, whipped of the covers, picked up the amused  
Vulcan and carried him to the hearthrug. Spock  
obligingly stretched out on his stomach and let Kirk  
knead his legs.

"We can't go out in this rain," Kirk reflected, working  
over a slightly stiff ankle. "We have enough food for  
the day, and the washing's done. Damned if I know how  
we'll keep from being bored silly."

"Let us consider it after breakfast."

"Agreed."

They lingered over the meal, took time over the  
subsequent washing, spent extra time adding more logs  
to the fire, and eventually wound up back on the  
hearthrug, wondering what to do next.

"I've got an idea," said Kirk, getting up. He rummaged  
briefly in his gear, and came back with the one book  
McCoy had let him bring: "The Ancient Future," a  
collection of classic 20th Century 'science fiction'  
stories. "This is something Sam and I used to do on  
rainy days," he said, stretching out beside Spock.  
"Let's choose a story and read it to each other. I'll  
read the first two pages, you read the next two, and so  
on. No fair turning the pages to peek ahead. Okay?"

[book titles are supposed to bo underlined. but it wasn't in the priginal text.]

"How intriguing," Spock concurred. *Not as efficient as  
each of us reading the entire piece silently...  
(Efficient for what?) Is this some obscure game, art-  
form, means of communication? If so, encourage.*

"Fine." Kirk picked a story at random, coughed briefly,  
and read off the title and author: "'The Star', by  
Arthur C. Clarke."

Spock listened attentively, noting that Kirk had an  
excellent reading voice. The story was, as expected of  
human literature, too emotional in tone for Spock's  
tastes. However, it was quite smoothly and tightly  
written, and Spock could readily understand the central  
character's difficulty in dealing with a serious  
philosophical problem. The plot concerned an explorer-  
ship's investigation of the last planet surviving a  
nova, seen from the point of view of a particularly  
religious crewman. The description of the investigation  
procedure was so clear, so accurate, so familiar that  
it was difficult to believe that the story had been  
written before the era of spaceflight. Spock wondered  
about human precognitive talent, particularly about the  
peculiar human ability known as 'imagination', while  
the story unfolded. He was eager to take his turn when  
Kirk handed the book to him, actually impatient at  
being obliged to read only as quickly as he could  
speak.

*...Voice like velvet,* Kirk thought, listening. He  
could easily picture the landing party exploring the  
nova-scoured planet, finding the remains of the great  
marker and the treasure that lay under it: vaults or  
recordings, made by the people who had once lived on  
the vanished inner worlds, records of their history,  
art, science, philosophy, all that they'd ever known or  
done. He smiled as he heard Spock's voice slowing,  
fascinated, over the descriptions of the vanished  
people. The writer's considerable skill painted a  
glowing image of them: beautiful, kind, just, wise,  
skilled -- and tragically lacking in any spaceflight  
technology that could have saved them.

Once in the description, Spock paused to glance up at  
him. "Yes," Kirk answered the unspoken question,  
"humans have often tried to imagine people better than  
ourselves. That's a pretty good example of idealized  
aliens."

Spock nodded once, digesting that, and went back to  
reading.

The heart of the philosophical problem, forecast in the  
first part of the story, appeared soon after Spock  
returned the book. The exploration team's  
astrophysicists finally determined the year in which  
the system's sun had exploded, and learned when the  
nova's brilliance would have been visible to the naked  
eye on Earth. Kirk began to guess what was coming;  
Spock could tell from the narrowing of his eyebrows and  
the tension in his voice. In the last few sentences,  
the dilemma became clear.

"'How can I now believe that God is just or merciful?'"  
he finished. "'Why were these beautiful people thrown  
into fire, only to make the star that shown over  
Bethlehem?'" The words ended. Kirk quietly closed the  
book.

*Unfortunate choice of story,* Spock thought. *It  
appears to have depressed him... Change his train of  
thought. At once.* "This is a lamentably ethnocentric  
attitude," he ventured. "The star exploded for reasons  
of its own, which had nothing to do with events on  
Earth that were later considered important."

"True." Kirk dutifully tried to cheer up. "It's just  
that from the viewpoint of the person telling the  
story, it's rough to find out that one of the major  
symbols of one's faith was rooted in a terrible  
cruelty."

*True for more than humans!* "At least, in this  
character's case, it was only the symbol - not one of  
the basic tenets."

"I don't know..." Kirk shivered, hitching a little  
closer for warmth. "That 'basic tenet' that the  
universe is run, created, whatever, by some -- some mind  
that's basically... good... That's hard to hold on to  
when you've seen some of the blind cruelties and  
injustices that happen -- just happen -- to people..." He  
put his chin on his hands and brooded at the fire.

"I see." Spock set the book aside and stretched out  
beside Kirk, close enough that a slight shift of weight  
would press their shoulders together. "An interesting  
dilemma: if some supreme being is indeed responsible  
for all events which occur in the universe, then he, or  
it, must be either cruel or indifferent."

"Not 'good'," Kirk concluded. "Nothing to believe in."

"Perhaps some form of Prime Directive is in force."

"Then there would be some exceptions, wouldn't there?"  
Kirk grinned fleetingly. "Rescue missions, for example.  
Beta Niobe ..." *You never told me exactly what  
happened to you and McCoy there...*

"Those people were capable of saving themselves." *With  
a few exceptions.* "They escaped through time, rather  
than space -- as we learned with some difficulty."

"But there've been other cases. The Enterprise alone  
has had I-don't-know-how-many missions to save people  
from plagues, famines, geological upheavals, novas,  
monsters drifting in from deep space..." He sighed.  
"What's the sense of worshipping something that's  
crueler than you are?"

*Indeed!* Spock's eyebrows climbed. "A... logical  
attitude... assuming that survival-based values are  
universally applicable... Of course, beings who do not  
base their values on survival do not tend to survive."  
He glanced nervously at Kirk.

"I guess I just don't like gods..." Kirk's expression  
was unmistakably grim -- and lonely. "Whether it's a  
super- powered alien lording it over helpless people,  
or some supposed ultimate keeper-of-everything who  
doesn't lift a finger to keep innocent people from  
getting blown to atoms -- I can't just smile and accept  
and believe. Better to believe there's nothing out  
there but other people: bigger, wiser, more powerful  
maybe -- but just people."

"Astonishing!" Spock reared up on his elbows. "We  
appear to have come to the same conclusions by totally  
different lines of reasoning! Vulcans find it illogical  
to base anything as important as behavior or ethics on  
unproven theory, whereas you begin with the effect of  
belief/disbelief and work... hmmm, backwards. Both  
methods are equally valid."

"Are you telling me I can sometimes think as well as a  
Vulcan?" Kirk laughed. "You're flattering me, Spock."

"Jim?" Spock did a double-take. "I assure you, I have  
never claimed that humans cannot think as well as  
Vulcans -- only that their methods are different."  
*...Wait. That is true. (True!) My conclusions,  
Vulcan's dangerous insufficiency...* "You know something  
that we do not."

"What's that?"

"How to use your emotions, rather than merely  
repressing them or being used by them."

"Oh. ...Well, we're not always successful at that."

"Indeed, but your success do outweigh your failures."  
*Had you truly believed --* "Jim, have I ever given you  
cause to be ... ashamed of being human?"

For an instant, Kirk looked shocked. "No, Spock, you  
haven't. You've only, uhm, occasionally made me aware  
of personal shortcomings. That's not the same thing."

"I was not certain; humans sometimes have difficulty  
seeing that difference. For a Vulcan it would be  
obvious, but..." *Wait. Not necessarily true. So many  
times I have seen...* "But then, I am not entirely  
Vulcan."

"You mean, Vulcans have made you ashamed of being even  
partly human?"

"Spock only blinked as the words hit. *How could he  
know?! I never told him about-- Good guess? 'Human  
intuition'...that strange human ability to think  
backwards and sideways... Imagination -- so  
illogically, often right!* "Yes... Yes, they have. Many  
times."

It is impossible, of course, for human eyes to actually  
'soften' or 'glow', but Kirk's gave a remarkable  
impression thereof. He reached up one hand and gripped  
Spock's arm. "That wasn't fair -- much less right."

*Interesting differentiation,* Spock thought, as an  
undefined feeling ached. *Communicate. Reply.*  
Awkwardly, he slipped his hand over Kirk's and faintly  
returned the pressure. "It appears that Vulcan society  
is lacking in several respects: unable to reliably  
attain its own standards, which are of themselves...  
insufficient." He gave a very human sigh. "Indeed,  
Vulcan does not have all the answers. We are not  
justified in considering ourselves generally superior  
to humans."

"I'm sorry."

"For what, Jim?"

"For taking that away from you."

"Illusions are not to be mourned. Better cause for  
distress that I believed in them for so long, despite  
the clear evidence... In fact, Doctor McCoy has been  
trying, for years to tell me that."

"All his teasing?"

"'The unchallenged blade grows dull.' I should thank  
him for it."

"We have a lot to thank him for." * --like sending you  
here to work out this -- this 'philosophical problem' in  
safety, instead of...* The overwhelming protectiveness  
rose again, impossible to ignore. Impulsively, Kirk  
flowed with it. He gripped Spock in a sudden bear-hug  
that made the Vulcan grunt with surprise. "Spock,  
you've got to stop risking yourself so much! Stop  
throwing yourself into danger for no good reason! You  
don't have to do that; there are better ways to --  
to..."

"Me!?" Spock's eyebrows climbed to his bangs. "You  
think that _I_..."

"Yes! Yes! Scrambling halfway across a clearing after  
that damned lizard when you couldn't walk! Getting  
yourself into that landslide in the first place! Poking  
your head into that snolligoster's lair! And before  
that--"

"But you--" Spock squirmed around in Kirk's grip until  
he could look him in the face. "It is _you_ who take  
the risks!"

"*Only_*me!?"

For a long moment, they stared at each other. "Spock,"  
Kirk ventured, "I think it's... both of us."

*No! Impossible! (...Impossible?) No...* Spock sat  
still for a long time, thinking that over, remembering  
certain undeniable facts. "Perhaps..." He sank back  
down on the hearthrug, fitting the new information into  
his computations, appalled at how well it fit.

Kirk, not knowing what to say, maneuvered more wood  
into the fire. He considered making some more herb tea,  
but decided against getting up and going to the kitchen  
for the needed items. He knew without analyzing it  
that, in this moment, he dared not put any distance  
between Spock and himself.

"'It is illogical to deny one's nature.'" Spock's voice  
was so quiet that Kirk wasn't sure he'd meant that to  
be heard. "Necessary, critical, to understand these  
positive human capacities. Yes the only one I seem to  
possess is... that one emotion. How to use it? ... No  
idea. And my ignorance allows..." He steepled his  
fingers and pressed his mouth against them.

Kirk didn't know if he should try to answer that. He  
wanted very badly to say, 'Let me help.' Instead, he  
tried something mild and noncommittal. "Should I make  
more tea?"

"Spock glanced up without moving his head, and slid his  
interlaced fingers beneath his chin. "Yes, I should  
like that."

*'Like'? Not 'it would be logical'?* Kirk wondered.  
*Some sign of... Oh, crumbs! Crumbs... But that's  
something.* "I'll get it. --Oh, damn! We used up the  
water on breakfast. Hell, I'll got get some more." He  
pulled off his boots and tossed them aside. "No point  
getting these wet. I'll be right back." He picked up  
the bucket and trotted out into the rain.

Spock sat up, worried. Probably Kirk couldn't get into  
any danger so close to the cabin, but it wouldn't hurt  
to watch. He'd conveniently left the door open. *For my  
viewing? Or his?* To get a clear view, Spock took one  
of the crutches and limped to the other side of the  
laundry line. He settled gingerly on the bed before his  
legs could buckle under him. From here he could see  
Kirk jogging through the rain, bucket bouncing on his  
arm, quite unharmed by the steady rain. Spock shivered  
in sympathy, wondering how it must feel to endure all  
that cold water on one's skin. He glanced gratefully  
toward the crackling fire.

Then his eyes fell on Kirk's boots, lying nearby. *Why  
did he not wish to get them wet?* Curious, Spock raked  
one close with the crutch, picked it up and examined  
it. *Not regular issue...* Ordinary Starfleet boots  
were made of neutral plastic, both for low expense and  
to avoid various cultural taboos; they were easily  
replaced, if not very durable. These, however, were  
made of leather -- black Andorian teegh-skin to be  
precise -- very supple and durable, capable of taking a  
high polish. They also had a slightly-higher-than-  
average heel. Inside were built-in arch supports. They  
were also surprisingly small.

*...Such little feet?* Spock wondered, trying  
unsuccessfully to fit his whole hand into the boot-  
foot. *Of course he would require special arch  
supports, carrying so big a body on such small feet...  
But then, why the heels? Such do not provide extra  
support. Quite the contrary. Why should he...*

At that point it occurred to Spock that his friend was  
not a tall man. In all these years, he had never quite  
noticed before. *-- Of course I tower over him  
naturally, being Vulcan)...[ think Leslie wanted a third dot after beieng Vulcan] but then ... So does  
[one space before McCoy] McCoy! And Scott. And... half the crew...* Random  
facts, duly recorded but never before correlated,  
popped into place. *He is barely of average height for  
a human male! No one seems to notice (not even myself!  
What else have I missed?) -- because he gives such an  
impression of... Size? Grandeur? Command? ...But he's  
really... compared to myself... Test. Be certain.*

The brontos were wolf-whistling again. Through the  
curtain of rain, Spock could see that Kirk had stopped  
to pick berries, no doubt to feed to the importunate  
little beasts. The bucket stood nearby, filled and  
spilling over now with added rainwater. Spock  
suppressed a smile, levered himself to his feet, and  
limped slowly to the door.

Eventually, the greedy brontos stopped whistling. Kirk  
picked up the sloshing bucket and came back to the  
cabin, thoroughly soaked. As he entered, Spock measured  
against him at the doorframe.

*Tiny!*

"Wha- Spock, what are you doing here?"

*I could rest my chin on the top of his head!* "I have  
discovered that I can walk short distances, with  
support."

"That's great. Here, let me help you back."

"Yes." *--so little, so fragile... How could I ever  
let him risk himself so?* A nameless emotion welled up,  
too swift for control: a deep yearning to protect, to  
enfold. As Kirk set the bucket down and turned back to  
him, Spock pulled away from the doorframe, reached for  
Kirk and wrapped both arm around him.

Kirk gasped at the sudden pressure, frozen with  
surprise. *This can't mean what I think -- No, of  
course not! He's just lost his balance. Hold him up.*  
"There, now. Easy. Let me turn. Get an arm around my  
shoulders. That's it. Now, one foot after the other.  
Don't worry, I won't let you fall..." He half-carried  
Spock back to the hearthrug and set him down on it as  
if nothing had happened. Then he went to the kitchen to  
make the tea.

*Astonishing!* Spock lay back on the rug, head reeling.  
*Why did I do that? (Impulse. Emotion.) What did it  
mean? (Protection, of course. Concern.) So fierce? So  
sweeping?* He closed his eyes. *Is that... ("both of  
us") ... affection? (Friendship? ... Love?) ... If so,  
it is very powerful. (Of course: to prevent aggression  
in a very aggressive species.) I understand so poorly!  
(Is it possible for Vulcans? Does father really --)  
More data needed. Communicate. (...But how? I do not  
even know the right questions to ask!) Observe...*

Kirk came back with the kettle and two cups. He was  
still wet.

"You should dry yourself," Spock cautioned. "Prolonged  
immersion in cold fluid effectively lowers the body  
temperature."

"Right, right." Kirk dug out a dry pair of pants and  
went off to the bathroom. He returned in a few moments,  
skin and hair toweled to merely damp, wearing the dry  
trousers and holding the wrung-out jeans. He hung the  
wet pants on the laundry line and returned to the fire.  
Spock looked up at him, clearly expectant.

*Say something, dammit!* Kirk berated himself. *He was  
wrestling with the real problem before, and I  
interrupted him. Stupid. I should have encouraged,  
helped... Now I don't know how to get back.* He sat  
down on the rug. "Spock, I... Oh, hell, I don't know  
what to say, how to help, anything."

"Neither do I," Spock admitted.

"Impasse?"

"Only for the moment."

They sat side by side, watching the fire for several  
minutes, still troubled but growing more calm.

"Right now I wish Bones had let us bring the chess  
set," Kirk said. "Keeping that back was a mistake." *So  
were those overlong crutches... Or did he do that  
deliberately?! Make sure I'd have to carry Spock, make  
him lean on me...*

"He did allow me to bring my harp," Spock recalled.  
"Would you mind if I played it?"

"Mind? Oh, no. I like your harp playing." Kirk got up  
and fetched the lyrette. Spock took it, inspected the  
tuning, adjusted a few keys, and played a short piece  
from a lowland folkdance sequence. He looked up to see  
Kirk tapping his fingers in rhythm. Amused, Spock tried  
another piece. He wound up playing until the sky  
darkened.

They kept quiet all through dinner, the washing  
afterward, and the now-habitual rubdown in front of the  
fire. Again, Spock purred off to sleep before it was  
finished, and Kirk carried him to bed and tucked him  
in. It was still raining.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Kirk awoke in the dark to an unfamiliar sound, a faint  
rattling, something odd that he couldn't identify. He  
glanced around the cabin, noting the pitch-dark and the  
chill air. *Fire's gone out...* He noticed that the  
sound was coming from the direction of the bed, and  
finally guessed what it was. He opened his sleeping  
bag, slithered out, bundled it up and picked his way  
through the darkness to the bed.

Spock came awake at the pressure and motion of the  
sleeping bag being spread on top of his blankets.  
"J-Jim?" he asked through chattering teeth.

"Yes." The edge of the mattress creaked under his  
weight. "No sense in both of us being chilled. Can you  
move over?"

Spock moved, too cold to argue. Kirk slid in beside  
him. They shuffled briefly for space, feet and elbows  
bumping, and eventually settled a polite three inches  
apart.

"That better?"

"Y-Yes. The temperature is s-steadily increasing."

"Fine. Good night, Spock."

"Good night." Spock took a few measured breaths,  
mentally recited a standard self-hypnotic formula, and  
duly fell asleep.

Soon afterward came dreams: vague, gentle dreams of  
childhood, of his old pet sehlat nuzzling and butting  
against him, slipping a furry paw around him,  
shouldering him away from harm or nudging to be petted.  
*Very well, I-Chaya...* He reached out to stroke the  
furry muzzle, but collided with something smooth  
instead. With the strange logic of dreams, this seemed  
perfectly reasonable. He petted the smooth flesh until  
he drifted back into stillness.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Kirk half-woke to dull morning light, sleepily noted  
that there was no sound of rain, but the air was still  
cool, and snuggled back into the warm nest of blankets.  
He felt that Spock had drifted closer during the night  
and now had a limp, hotter-than-human arm draped around  
him. It felt nice. He rolled a little nearer, slipped  
one leg into the comfortable space between Spock's bent  
knees, and sank back into sleep again.

When they both finally wakened, the sun was high and  
the air warm. Spock would have been content to stay  
where he was; the quiet warmth was so comfortable.  
Kirk, however, was getting overheated and hungry. He  
slid regretfully out from under the covers and went to  
deal with breakfast. Spock remained in bed,  
contemplating this new and intriguing feeling of  
contentment. There was no logical reason for it, but  
nonetheless, he felt it. *Is this part of what humans  
call 'happiness'?* he wondered. He stretched like a  
cat. There was no pain or stiffness in his legs.

Kirk came over to the bed and whipped the blankets off  
with a flourish. He helped Spock to his feet, half-  
carried him over to the fireplace, and lowered him onto  
the hearthrug for the morning rub down. *Positive,  
harmless, even beneficial...* Spock decided. He let  
himself sink down into the welcome sensations. A soft  
purr rattled in his throat.

Kirk slid a cautious hand up the Vulcan's neck and  
gently rubbed behind his ears. The purr grew louder.  
Daring, Kirk slipped his fingers under Spock's chin and  
lightly scratched. Spock actually smiled, and leaned  
against the scritching fingers.

"Ah, you like that, don't you?" Kirk whispered.

"Yess... Please continue. Rrrrr..."

"Cat. My big cat."

"I hardly consider that flattering." Spock twitched a  
faint smile. "Would you enjoy being called a 'big  
monkey'?"

"Just as long as you call me King Kong," Kirk laughed,  
still scratching.

"Indeed. Do you feel a deep-seated urge to climb tall  
buildings and smash antique aircraft?"

"Nope. Can't say I cared that much for Fay Wray,  
either." Kirk moved his hand back to Spock's ears. "I  
just liked that old classic -- always felt sympathetic  
to the big ape."

Spock frowned, remembering the end of that ancient  
story. "Do you find the idea of dying for love  
attractive?"

*Hell of a question!* Kirk thought. *Damned if you do,  
and damned if you don't.* "Well, there are worse things  
to die for."

"True..." Spock subsided, worrying. *Again, death or  
communication. Speak.!* He considered the sensation of  
Kirk's hands sliding over him, and the unregretted time  
Kirk had spent doing it. "Jim," he ventured, "I do find  
this... activity... most gratifying. Do you, also?"

Kirk didn't miss a stroke. "Yes. Yes, I do."

Spock reflected for a moment, then rolled over on his  
side. "Come here, then. I will reciprocate."

*What the hell?!* Holding his breath, Kirk stretched  
out on the rug. *What does he-- Breakthrough?  
Expression...?* He turned on his side, facing Spock, with  
no idea what to expect.

"I believe this position will be most efficient." Spock  
slipped both arms around him, pulled him close, and  
began rubbing his back in wide, slow, lazy circles. "Is  
this enjoyable?"

"Oh, yes. Very good. Yes..." *But, damn, what does it  
mean?* Kirk wrapped his arms around Spock and dutifully  
rubbed back, trying to make some sense out of this. For  
a human, this action would border -- more than just  
border -- on the seductive... *But for a Vulcan? Half-  
Vulcan -- and with a -- an identity crisis, at that. I  
don't think he quite understands what he's doing...  
Experimenting. Trying to make me happy... find out what  
makes him happy... Well, if it does...* He dared to  
hitch himself closer, rest his head on Spock's  
shoulder, and relax completely. Hands moved gently.  
Warm yellow sunlight filled the air with a soft gold  
haze.

Kirk lay still, a quiet, dreamy, peaceful feeling  
settled over him. He could hear Spock purring softly  
under his ear. *Is this the answer?* he wondered, hope  
growing. *As simple as this? Just touching, cuddling...  
like a pair of sleepy puppies. 'Nonverbal expression.'  
A safe, sure, gentle way to say 'love...'* He rubbed  
his cheek against Spock's shoulder, delighting in the  
dry velvety texture, the faint spicy smell, the smooth  
rippling motion. *So easy to enjoy this... quiet,  
chaste, gentle touching...* "Ah, you feel good," he  
murmured. "I could stay like this forever."

He felt Spock smiling against his forehead. "Would you  
not eventually grow hungry or thirsty?"

"Oh, eventually..." His stomach chose that particularly  
inopportune time to growl. "Let's get through  
breakfast."

They ate slowly, watching each other, letting the  
pleasure of observation mix with the enjoyment of the  
food. Spock found it an 'intriguing experiment in  
sensory orchestration.' Kirk gave him an odd look,  
playfully mussed his hair, and went off to wash the  
dishes.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Later, they went out to the lake, Kirk carrying the  
water bucket and firewood basket, Spock leaning on him  
and cautiously trying to put a little more weight on  
his feet than he had yesterday. The tiny brontos  
spotted them and paddled up, open-mouthed and eager,  
making wolf-whistles and downright obscene kissy-  
noises.

"Where did they learn that one?" Kirk laughed. "They  
sound like a bunch of street corner punks." He glanced  
around for a berry bush.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh. Uhm, those noises they're making are classic  
Earth-culture... ah, mating-calls. Heh! The only one  
they're lacking is a holler of 'Hey, Baby!'" He laughed  
again. "What those little beggars won't do for berries.  
Sorry, you bums; I've got to go get water and  
firewood."

"If you will give me a handful of berries, I shall feed  
them," Spock offered, toying with the idea.

"Fine with me." Kirk strolled to the nearest available  
bush and began picking. The brontos whistled and  
smacked impatiently. "All right, already. Here you are,  
Spock. Have fun." He handed Spock the berries, picked  
up the basket and bucket, and trotted off.

Spock edged closer to the water, waving a berry over  
the small horde of open mouths. "'Hey, Baby,'" he  
solemnly intoned. The brontos whistled and kissed  
frantically. He tried again. And again. After the fifth  
try, one of the brontos made a fair attempt at  
imitating him. He popped a berry into its mouth. Other  
brontos got the idea.

Half an hour later, Kirk came back to the lake shore  
with a basket stuffed full of wood and a sloshing-full  
bucket. Spock sat quietly, waiting for him, face  
revealing nothing. *Jim should be highly amused,* he  
thought, suppressing a smile. Kirk strolled up,  
unsuspecting.

The brontos spotted him. They raised their heads and  
paddled toward him, greedy and hopeful and noisy.

"Phweee-phew!" "Smacksmacksmack!" "Ayyyy, bayyy-beeee!"

"Huh???" said Kirk, almost dropping the bucket.

"Ayyyy, bayyy-beee!"

Kirk's jaw dropped. His face turned re.

*I seem to have miscalculated...* Spock set his  
expression to absolute neutral.

Kirk did a classic double-take. "Spock, did you...?" He  
looked at the brontos, then back at Spock. "Nawww." He  
shook his head. "I can't believe it." *... But how else  
could they...?*

"I beg your pardon?" said Spock. A newborn lamb  
couldn't have looked more innocent.

*Of course he did it,* Kirk realized. *My Lord, he's  
just played a practical joke! ...he's developing a  
sense of humor. Amateur. Doesn't he realize how weird  
his jokes are...* Kirk put down the water and wood,  
pulled Spock to his feet and picked him up. He trundled  
up the slope to the woods.

"Jim?" Spock sounded ever-so-faintly worried. "May I  
ask where you are taking me?"

"Out of temptation's way." Kirk carried him to the  
honey-tree and set him down. "Stay here and watch for  
the bee-snakes while I go put the firewood away. I'll  
be back in a few minutes." He strolled off, whistling.

Bemused, Spock sat and watched the tree. From a faint  
scratching sound within, he judged that the bee-snakes  
were at home and awake. A miniature bear peeped at him  
from behind a tree. "Shoo," Spock commanded, pointing a  
finger at it. The bear didn't shoo, but it didn't came  
any closer either.

Kirk came back shortly, carrying an empty bowl, a knife  
and a phaser. Without questioning Spock, he put an ear  
to the tree and noted the presence of the snakes. He  
stepped back, drew the phaser and played the stun beam  
up and down the trunk. He reached into the hole, felt  
around for a moment, pulled out the two limp snakes and  
set them carefully on the ground.

"They ought to stay asleep long enough for me to get  
the honey," he explained, taking up the bowl and knife.  
"A little faster and safer than building a fire."

"Indeed," Spock begrudged. "But let me remind you that  
the honey was intended to feed their young."

"Don't worry, I'll only take a bowlfull. They have  
plenty." Kirk withdrew his arm, holding a fresh-cut  
comb dripping with honey. He dropped it neatly into the  
bowl.

The little bear crept closer, nose twitching. Another  
bear followed. Kirk pulled out another handful of  
honeycomb. A large crumb of honey-soaked wax broke  
loose and fell to the ground. The bears scrambled for  
it.

"Jim," Spock cautioned, "the snakes are waking."

"Ah, just another handful."

The snakes woke in a vile temper, and the sight of a  
giant plundering their tree didn't improve their  
attitude. They hissed furiously, raised their crests to  
full height, bared their fangs and lashed their  
tongues. It was a much more impressive display than the  
Snit's. Kirk gave them a thoughtful look, but kept on  
rummaging in the tree.

"I believe they are going to--"

The snakes attacked. They boldly threw themselves at  
Kirk's feet and fanged his boots. He shuffled from foot  
to foot, shaking them off. The bears scrambled out of  
the way, but not too far from the chance of honey.

"Note that their tempers are severely aroused."

The frustrated snakes gave up gnarfing on Kirk's boots  
and decided to chase the bears instead. The bears  
galumped away, bawling. Kirk pulled out a last handful  
of honey, picked up the bowl, and came to help Spock to  
his feet. The snakes, seeing their way clear, slithered  
up the tree and whipped into the hollow.

As Spock limped away, leaning on Kirk's shoulder, he  
glanced back to observe the outraged snakes sticking  
their heads out of the tree, hissing ferociously and  
waving their tongues at him. *Peace,* he thought. *No  
harm done.*

Putting away the honey and gathering more food kept  
them busy for the rest of the morning. After lunch,  
they went out to the meadow to look for unicorns. They  
found a few, but the little creatures were  
unaccountably shy and refused to come near.

Spock guessed that a predator might be nearby. They  
went looking for the predator, but found only a herd of  
minimoths and a cluster of grazing Snits.

After that, Kirk wanted to go swimming. Spock politely,  
but firmly, refused to join him. Kirk shrugged,  
stripped off his clothes and strolled into the water --  
which was, Spock noted, reassuringly shallow. Kirk  
splashed about happily, paddled to and fro with a half-  
dozen different strokes, floated on his back for a  
while, then abruptly gave a loud "Whoof!" and sank.

"Jim?" Spock scrambled up to his hands and knees.  
"Jim!"

Kirk's head broke the surface, a bemused look on his  
face. "Just a minute," he shouted, then dived again.

Spock suppressed a sudden urge to bite his nails.

In exactly fifty eight seconds, Kirk came up again. He  
moved in close to shore, grinning impishly, nothing but  
his head showing. "Hey, Spock!" he called. "What's  
large, purple, and rams ships?"

Spock sighed. "I don't know, Jim. What *is* large and  
purple and rams ships?"

"Moby Grape." Kirk stood up, grinning from ear to ear.  
In his arms wriggled and spouted a little purple water  
mammal shaped exactly like a terrestrial Sperm Whale.  
It was all of two feet long. "Fierce little devil,"  
Kirk said, letting the tiny whale slide back into the  
water. "Came up and rammed me in the ribs. See?" He  
pointed. Sure enough, there was a good-sized bruise  
beginning.

"You had best come out of the water before the injury  
gives you a cramp."

Kirk made a wry face, but clambered up onto the shore.  
He stretched out on the short grass to let the air and  
sun dry him off. Even with his eyes shut, he could feel  
Spock watching him. For the first time, he was sharply  
aware of being naked. Wordlessly, Spock brushed wet  
hair out of Kirk's eyes.

*He's changing,* Kirk thought. *Good grief, is he  
changing! He played a practical joke -- and a raunchy  
one, at that. He hugged and petted me for nearly half  
an hour. Now he's watching me lie here, nude, as if I  
were the most fascinating sight on the planet. If he  
were human, I'd swear he was trying to seduce me!  
...But he's a Vulcan. A very-unsure-of-himself Vulcan,  
daring to experiment with feelings... which he doesn't  
understand... said he was a virgin... no experience...  
and Vulcans don't even talk about it... Doubly  
innocent.*

He heard the grass whisper and creak as Spock lay down  
beside him. Long hot fingers probed gently through his  
hair. He felt goosebumps start up on his skin.

*Calm down! He doesn't know what he's doing to me! How  
the hell should he? Not human... Whatthehell, probably  
Vulcans can't feel any kind of horniness out of season.  
...But Leila? No, he wasn't in his right mind then.  
Still... that was out of season...*

The exploring hand drew away from his hair and slid  
under his neck, the soft-sleeved arm pillowing his  
head. There was no further movement.

*...Stop,* Kirk decided. *He's completely innocent. If  
I'm not, that's my problem. Tomcat! And he... like a  
shy kitten that needs petting, like a little unicorn,  
that's all. He's found a safe expression for his  
feelings, and I won't -- can't! Don't dare! -- scare  
him away from it. Don't discourage him. Keep calm.  
Think about cold showers...*

Surprisingly he did manage to sleep. There were no  
dreams -- at least none that he remembered when Spock  
wakened him, with a gentle shake, in time to watch the  
sunset. They watched the sky change colors, enticed a  
solitary unicorn close enough for a few pats, tossed  
berries to the embarrassing brontosaurus chorus, and  
went in for dinner.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

After dishes were cleared, the laundry done, the solar  
collector refilled, the fire built up, neither of them  
were sleepy enough to go to bed immediately, Spock,  
sensing a strained silence approaching, took up his  
harp and played some short compositions. Kirk watched  
the fire, attempted to listen to the music, and  
fidgeted.

Spock noticed his restlessness, wondering how to ask  
about it politely, and tried playing a more soothing  
tune. It didn't help; Kirk got up, fed the fire, sat  
down, tapped his fingers, and looked itchy.

Spock sighed in defeat, finished the piece quickly, and  
gave Kirk the harp to put away. *Unfortunately,* he  
concluded, *my music does not appear to provide  
'openings' for conversation...*

Kirk came back bearing the book and a hopeful smile.  
"Want to read another story with me?" he offered.

"Certainly," Spock enthused, stretching out on the rug.

Kirk settled beside him and thumbed through the pages.  
"This looks interesting: 'Pillar of Fire,' by Ray  
Bradbury. You want to start?"

Spock did. He was developing a taste for the rich and  
intriguing prose texture of Earth fiction, and this  
particular author's lush-velvety style did not  
disappoint him. It was so easy to become lost in  
appreciation of the language that, at first, he paid  
scant attention to the plot.

It wasn't until Kirk took over the reading that Spock  
began to notice the disturbing elements of the story.  
It was an outright fantasy -- that peculiar human art-  
form intended as a purely decorative piece of illogic --  
but the design of this tale was dark and troubling.  
The plot concerned 'the last dead man on Earth', who  
had mysteriously reanimated his corpse and now wandered  
across the world, trying unsuccessfully to reawaken in  
humanity the 'lost' emotion of fear. *Why,* Spock  
wondered indignantly, *should that be an admirable  
goal, as the author clearly implies?*

When his turn came again, Spock read more carefully,  
and the disquieting answer soon appeared. The culture  
of this fictional Earth was artificial, deliberately  
constructed to avoid all 'unhealthy thought' such as  
any 'negative' -- or deep, or strong -- emotions. It  
was a calm, bland, hygienic, ultimately shallow culture  
\-- and it was horrifyingly like Vulcan. Spock had to  
peek back at the introduction to make sure that the  
author had been dead for more than a century before the  
first human ships had set down on Vulcan. *Human  
precognition?* He shuddered and handed back the book.

Kirk finished the story, too wrapped in the plot to  
count pages. The Last Dead Man, alone against a  
politely and implacably hostile world, inevitably  
failed. He was captured, his plea neatly reasoned away,  
nailed into a coffin, and decorously thrown into a  
crematorium. Kirk's voice shook on the last lines; he  
closed the book and looked away.

For several minutes, they studied the fire, neither of  
them saying anything. "It -- That future did not come  
to pass," Spock ventured. "Not on Earth..."

"Not all of Earth," Kirk corrected, shivering. "I've  
met people who believe in that sort of thing. No depth.  
Like... like flowers cut away from their stalks and  
stuck in a vase of distilled water. Pretty, rootless,  
and half dead."

*Intriguing analogy.* "How long do cut flowers  
generally live?"

"Not nearly as long as the whole plant."

Spock steepled his fingers and pressed them against his  
mouth. *'Reasoning by analogy is unreliable...' But  
when the analogy is so remarkably close?* He felt an  
odd non-external chill, followed quickly by an  
impulsive desire to reach out and touch Kirk, to take  
some obscure reassurance from the warm and solid  
contact. *Harmless to indulge...* He slipped an arm  
over Kirk's shoulders and gently squeezed. Kirk leaned  
against him, rubbing a smooth cheek against Spock's  
ear. *It does have a reliably salutary effect...* Kirk  
slid a hand behind his ears and scratched delicately.  
Spock arched his neck toward the welcome pressure.

"Cat," Kirk chuckled. "Kitty-cat."

"King-Kong?"

Kirk laughed, took Spock by the shoulders, and rolled  
him on his back. "I wonder if you're ticklish..."

"Oof! Affirmative!"

Spock clutched at him, but Kirk wriggled out of his  
grip and playfully nipped at his neck. Spock grabbed  
again. In a moment, they were rolling on the hearthrug  
like wrestling bear-cubs, tumbling, gripping,  
wriggling, evading holds with most improper tickling.  
*Fascinating,* Spock noted past the bubbly-warm  
enjoyment. *A parody of unarmed combat.* He managed to  
catch Kirk by the arms and pin him on his back. Kirk  
relaxed and smiled up at him, cheerfully admitting  
defeat, apparently expecting something further. Spock  
thought for a moment, then bent over and gently nipped  
Kirk's neck, ritually ending the play-fight as it had  
begun. Kirk laughed softly and slipped his hands up  
Spock's arms. It seemed the most logical action to  
slide down into the waiting embrace. He nestled his  
face into the hollow of Kirk's neck and relaxed  
completely, enjoying the quiet pleasure of the contact.  
Kirk's hands slowly circled on his back.

"I love you, you know," Kirk whispered.

*Reply honestly,* Spock thought. "I wish I could give a  
simple answer," he ventured, "but that would not be  
accurate."

"You don't have to--"

"I *do* feel... definable forms of affection for you.  
I... greatly enjoy your presence, and sharing  
activities with you, and thoughts, and I do not wish to  
see you harmed in any way, or hurt and... I find you  
aesthetically pleasing... at least, to all those senses  
which I have analyzed." *Test...* He pressed his face  
close and softly licked Kirk's neck.

Kirk managed to suppress a gasp, but his arms wrapped  
tighter around Spock's back.

"You even taste pleasing," Spock marveled, rubbing his  
cheek against Kirk's shoulder. "Salty, with subtle  
undertones."

Kirk let his breath out slowly, carefully. *Innocent,*  
he reminded himself. *Totally innocent. Vulcan, virgin,  
completely uninformed... Migod, if he did this to  
anyone else, he'd get raped... or his jaw broken. Good  
thing I'm here...* "Uhm, Spock, you wouldn't do -- I  
mean, ah, do you... feel this way about anyone else?"

"No. No one else draws me to such extremes."  
*Astonishing extremes, for a Vulcan. For a human, of  
course, this would most certainly be quite mild... Is  
my affection enough to satisfy him, save him? I must--  
*"I do not know if these combined elements equal what  
you would call 'love', but I do feel them."

"Close enough." *For him, that must be so hard to  
say...* Kirk squeezed his eyes shut and hugged  
shamelessly. "'A difference that makes no  
difference...'"

"Oof. Indeed." *That appears to be a positive  
gesture... and he obviously enjoys it... as do I...*  
Encourage.* "I, too, find these actions most pleasant.  
Perhaps..." *Yes. (Yes!)* "Jim, I believe that I am...  
happy. Right now."

"I'm glad for you."

They lay like that for a long time, clinging tight,  
touching gently, letting the quiet contentment carry  
them in soft waves to the edge of sleep. The fire sank  
lower. The edges of the room filled with stars.

Eventually, Kirk yawned. "I don't know about you, but  
I'm getting sleepy."

"I, too, feel the need for rest."

"Come along, then."

Kirk helped Spock to his feet, supported him as he  
shuffled to the bed, and helped him slip off the  
remainder of his clothes. Spock pulled the blankets  
aside and slid under them. Kirk hummed what he could  
remember of Spock's last harp solo as he took off his  
own clothes and slipped into the warm bed beside Spock.  
It seemed the most natural thing in the world, keeping  
warm and safe this way. "Hope it doesn't get too cold",  
he commented, pulling the blankets up to his eyes. "I'd  
hate to have to scamper across that cold floor to build  
up the fire."

"I doubt if the ambient temperature will fall more than  
five de-" A huge yawn smothered the last word.

"Fine..." Kirk settled into a relaxed sprawl, one ankle  
draped across Spock's. "Good night, then."

Spock's face buried in the pillow, murmured something  
that sounded like "Pleasant dreams."

"Mmmm..." Kirk let his eyes drift shut and smiled  
drowsily into the star-roofed darkness. *Progress.  
We're getting there. Safe...* Everything would be fine  
now; they'd found a workable solution. *Several  
solutions. Shared fun, exploring a new world together,  
reading to each other, an occasional joke, backrubs...  
and a little chaste hugging. Not so difficult after  
all... to say 'I love you...'* Thought thinned out to  
silence. He slept.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Shortly before dawn, strange signals reached to the  
deep levels. Disturbed, Spock spiraled up to  
consciousness. The peculiar sensations sharpened focus,  
making little more sense than before. He knew where he  
was: in bed, lying on his side, Kirk pressed  
spoonfashion against his back, and clearly in some sort  
of distress. Though still asleep, Kirk was twitching  
and groaning in irregular pulses, his arm tightening  
spasmodically across Spock's shoulder and chest, his  
thighs shifting restlessly.

*Nightmare?* Spock wondered. *Should I wake him?*

Through the physical contact, his sleep-unshielded  
telepathic sense registered a high level of energy. No  
pain, actually no fear either; there was only a sharp,  
indefinable urgency. Worried, Spock deliberately  
tightened focus, sank into that fiercely dreaming mind,  
and--

\--tumbled headlong into a seething cauldron of alien  
bright /hot/ravening need/pulsing/bursting/exploding--

He scrambled back behind his shields just as Kirk's  
grip tightened enough to squeeze him breathless, body  
arched rigid and trembling, voice escaping in a long  
shivering groan. *What does it mean?* Spock wondered  
frantically. *What is happening?*

Then he felt Kirk's arm and body go limp, the frenzy  
passing, the incoherent sounds subside into heavy  
panting, cool sweat slicking the smooth skin. "Jim?" he  
ventured, turning toward him, noticing that the sheet  
was wet. "Jim? Are you ill?"

"...Hm?" Kirk blinked to wakefulness. "I... Oh, damn!"  
He rolled out of bed, swearing softly. "Be right back."  
He stamped off to the bathroom.

Bewildered, Spock sat up and peeled back the covers.  
The pale dawn light revealed a damp and badly rumpled  
sheet, puddled with a large, sticky stain. *Not blood,*  
Spock thought, relieved. *Nor does he appear harmed.  
But what...?*

Kirk came back soon, his skin pink with hard scrubbing.  
He saw Spock innocently studying the damning evidence,  
and blushed to the color of an angry sunburn. "Uh,  
here, I'll change the bed." He hurried over to the  
cupboard and pulled out a fresh sheet. "Get up, I'll  
take care of it." Barely giving Spock time to move, he  
yanked the blankets loose and began uprooting the  
bedclothes as if they were hateful weeds.

"Jim?" Spock worried. "Are you ill?"

"No. Just careless." Kirk balled up the sheet and threw  
it into the corner. *--and I'm a stupid, horny,  
unthinking, sloppy idiot!*

"Careless?" Spock puzzled.

*All right, all right, I _am_ going to have to  
explain...* Kirk took a deep breath, devoutly wishing  
he were somewhere else -- Andromeda, for example. *Go  
on! I promised I'd talk about anything, no matter  
what... asked him enough embarrassing questions... it's  
his turn now.* "Ah, Spock, how much do you know  
about... uhm, human biology?"

Spock blinked, sharply remembering a similar statement  
that he'd made, long ago. *He can't mean...* "Do you  
mean... biology, as in... reproduction?"

"Yes." *--goddamn, blushing down to my toenails--*

"I have never made a specific study of the subject,  
though I am aware of the basic mechanism." *--also  
that humans are shockingly promiscuous... (by Vulcan  
standards. IDIC! IDIC!) They are... enthusiastic and  
eclectic.*

Kirk tucked down the new sheet with exquisite care. It  
gave him an excuse not to look at Spock. "Well, with  
human males, if one doesn't get... er, a sufficient  
amount of... ah, sexual activity, the uhm, genetic  
material builds up, and after it reaches a certain  
level, it's ... ah, expelled. Automatically. During  
sleep. Usually accompanied by dreams. That's what  
happened here. See?" He managed a quick glance and a  
weak but reassuring smile. "It's nothing to worry  
about."

"'Insufficient...'" Spock's eyebrows climbed to his  
bangs. "*You*!?"

Kirk looked up at Spock's humanly-expressive face, and  
his embarrassment melted down to bubbly laughter. "Yes,  
me!" He tossed the pillows back on the bed and chucked  
the blankets after them. "Shore leaves are few and far  
between."

Spock sidled around the bedpost, staring in uncurbed  
amazement. "Do you mean to say that you are completely  
celibate while on the ship?"

"Nnnno, not completely." Kirk grinned, sat down on the  
edge of the bed and swung his heels back and forth.  
"Once in a while, I get to entertain an interested  
passenger, or seduce a local priestess-or-whatever in  
the line of duty... Deela, for instance..." He sighed  
fondly. "But for the most part, yes. Nothing but my  
good right hand. ...Uh, that's a colloquialism. It  
means, er..."

"I am aware of the human capacity for sexual self-  
stimulation... and satisfaction." Spock looked away,  
toward the corner where Kirk had thrown the stained  
sheet. "In terms of survival..." His voice grew so  
quiet that Kirk strained to hear him. "It seems much  
more efficient than... the Vulcan cycle."

"Oh." It had never occurred to Kirk that Spock might  
envy him for that. "Spock, I'm sorry."

"Illogical to regret one's nature." Spock sat down  
awkwardly beside Kirk. "Equally illogical to envy  
others for their nature." * ...or is it? If one might  
take action to obtain it... Father?*

"Ah, well, it's just a stop-gap measure," Kirk hurried  
on. "Not as good as the real thing. Sooner or later,  
the real thing is needed."

Spock turned to look at him. "I was not aware that  
humans could also die for lack of a mate."

"We don't die of it," Kirk frowned, remembering a few  
cases he'd known. "We just go quietly, dangerously,  
slightly mad." He caught Spock's look of alarm. "No,  
don't worry; I'm in no danger of that. I get lai-- uhm,  
relief often enough to keep reasonably healthy.  
Just..." He shrugged. "A little less than I could use."

"I find this most surprising, considering the number of  
available females on the ship."

"I can't do that! General Order 43-A!"

"I believe that regulation is, to use the time-honored  
human colloquialism, 'more honored in the breach than  
in the observance'."

"Not on my ship!" Kirk crossed his arm and firmly set  
his feet on the floor. "It isn't right."

"Indeed?" Spock's eyebrows climbed again. He had never  
really thought of Kirk as having self-imposed sexual  
ethics. *I have,* he realized guiltily, *thoughtlessly  
accepted the common stereotype of human sexual  
behavior, even applied it causelessly to him. Most  
unjust. (Are Vulcans usually so biased?) I shall not  
think that of him again.*

Part 14

"I know some captains do it," Kirk continued, "maybe  
even most of them, but that still doesn't make it  
right. There's damned good reason for that order; if  
you play around with people too far from your own rank  
there's always the danger of coercion, favoritism or  
currying it, jealousy, dissension, all that. No, you  
can do anything you want, but you've got to stick to  
your own rank, or at least the rank right next to it. I  
just happen to be the only captain the Enterprise has.  
As for the next closest grade, the only command-grade  
officers we have are you, McCoy and Scotty. Some  
choice! I don't know about you, but neither Bones nor  
Scotty's interested." He laughed at the nonplussed look  
on Spock's face. "I guess they're just not adventurous  
that way."

"Fascinating. And are you?"

"Well, yes." Kirk grinned, ducked away from Spock's  
gaze and reached for his clothes. "When I cut loose on  
shore leave, I really cut loose: male, female, neuter,  
other, you-name-it. I tend to prefer women, but I'm  
willing to try almost anything, at least once."

"Males?" Spock marveled. *How is that physically  
possible?*

"A few times." Kirk shuffled into his bluejeans and  
rummaged about for a shirt. "Interesting. Not something  
I'd go looking for, but if it's offered, I won't turn  
it down."

Spock thought about that and decided to postpone his  
questions on physical mechanics. "'Other?'" he  
ventured.

"Other," Kirk laughed, pulling on his boots. "Yes, it's  
true what they say about Andorian neuters. I don't know  
about Tellarites; I just never could get turned on by  
something that looks that much like a terrestrial pig.  
I don't like doing it with animals -- no way." He  
paused, a memory tickling. "For that matter, I can't  
say I really enjoy Orion green slave-girls. They may  
look like people, but they're animals all the same."

"Not with animals?" Spock mentally scratched off  
another stereotype. *Not my Jim,* he thought smugly.

"No." Kirk scratched his chin, thinking. "Same thing,  
in a way, as General Order 43-A. An animal can't  
refuse, can't really complain, has no choose. Even if  
the animal doesn't mind, that's still a little too  
close to coercion for my tastes."

"Then I assume you have never been involved in a  
coercive mating."

"No! Never!" Kirk hitched his shoulders higher. "I  
once... observed a rape. It sickened me."

"Quite understandable." Spock's expression shifted to  
Absolute Neutral. *Among Vulcans, that would be  
considered merely... an unfortunate accident. (His  
ethics are superior to--)Of course, our physiology is  
different...*

"And of course, there's a limit to what I can do with  
non-humanoids," Kirk went on. "I found out the hard  
way that I can't do it with an Edoan."

"Indeed? Why not?"

Kirk grinned, picked up Spock's clothes and tossed them  
to him. "Because I only have *one, that's why."

Spock thought for a moment, and did not bother asking  
what Kirk had only one of.

"And I once tried it with a -- a... What do you call  
those vegetable people? Well, it was impossible. Really  
impossible. I mean, flowers are lovely things, but what  
can you do with organs that are just a fringe of petals  
around a triangle of... hm, shag velvet?"

Spock gulped at that arresting image. "Nothing," he  
agreed. *Zarabeth! Utterly impossible...* His stomach  
rumbled gently. "Had we not best proceed to breakfast?"  
he suggested, pulling on his socks.

"Hmm? ... Oh, sure." Half-relieved and half-sorry that  
the odd conversation was ended, Kirk got up and went to  
the kitchen.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Breakfast was salad and mushrooms again, and Kirk felt  
a distinct hankering for something a little more solid.  
After dishwashing and chores, he sent Spock out to the  
vegetable garden, tottering carefully, using one crutch  
for a cane, then took his clasp-knife and phaser and  
went off to the woods to hunt.

He passed by the herds of skitterish unicorns, snits  
and minimoths, moving deeper into the forest, searching  
for a particular species of strangers. Within an hour,  
he found what he was looking for. A larger and slower  
version of the snit, a small herd of them in fact,  
grazed sleepily in one of the small meadows.

Kirk tiptoed close and stunned one of them with the  
phaser. The others looked up, blinked a few times, and  
went back to eating. Kirk shook his head in amazement,  
stepped out of hiding and calmly walked up to the herd.  
The pseudo-snits looked up, ruminated a bit, and slowly  
shuffled out of his way. Kirk picked up his prey,  
rummaged through the fur until he found the animal's  
throat, and cut it with a single, quick stroke of the  
knife. The other pseudo-snits, smelling the spilled  
blood, shuffled away a little faster. *Incredibly  
slow,* Kirk thought, watching them. *How do they  
survive? Too big for most of the predators? Or do they  
just breed like tribbles?* He bled the carcass as dry  
as possible, stood up and walked back to the cabin.

Spock was still out in the garden. Kirk went into the  
kitchen and set about cleaning and skinning the pseudo-  
snit. He had just removed the skin and paws when Spock  
came in with a full basket. He couldn't help noticing  
what Kirk was doing.

"May I ask what you have there?" he queried politely.

"Dinner." Kirk bent over his work, carefully removing  
the internal organs, hoping Spock couldn't see too  
closely. "One of those big, dumb cousins of the snit.  
Should last me a day or two."

"I see."

Saying nothing further, Spock washed and put away the  
groceries, hung the basket back on its peg, and limped  
away. A moment later, Kirk heard him tuning the harp.  
*I guess he's not too upset,* Kirk concluded. He took  
special care to waste none of the meat as he cut the  
carcass in quarters, washed them, wrapped them in cold  
leaves and put them in the cold-box. He bundled up the  
organs and scraps in more leaves, took them outside,  
and spent a quarter-hour burying them at the foot of a  
berry-bush. *Back to the earth...* he sang to himself,  
patting the dirt over the remains. *Waste not, want  
not.* He heard Spock rummaging about in the kitchen  
behind him, apparently preparing some complicated dish.  
*Something Vulcan, I bet...*

He took the skin and stretched it on the cabin's outer  
wall, pegging it tight with thorns. He scraped it clean  
with his knife and rubbed it thoroughly with the  
leftover brains and some salt. He remembered the  
guidebook mentioning some incredible berries that were  
good for tanning hides. He spent another hour gathering  
a half-bucketful of them and rubbing them deeply into  
the stretched skin. Inside, Spock had gone back to his  
harp. The music was thoughtful, tranquil, and a bit sad  
and resigned.

Kirk came back inside. "All done," he announced. "Shall  
we have lunch?"

Spock nodded agreement and put his harp aside.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Lunch was garden vegetables and a few fried lake fish.  
Apparently, Kirk meant to save the pseudo-snit for  
dinner. He also seemed restless: not irritable, just  
unable to relax completely. Spock wondered if he should  
ask about this, but decided to wait and observe.

Afterwards, Kirk wanted to go look for unicorns. Spock  
came along, leaning on his shoulder and on one crutch.  
They moved slowly from lake to hill, examining every  
meadow with no success.

"What could have happened to them?" Kirk sounded more  
worried than exasperated. "They seemed shy and edgy  
this morning..."

"Perhaps a migration pattern -- No, there are some.  
Under that hedge; look."

Kirk followed Spock's pointing finger and saw that some  
of the blue flowers on a nearby hedge weren't moving in  
the wind, and some of the pale thorns looked  
suspiciously like horns. He peered closer, and saw  
several pairs of frightened eyes looking back at him.  
In fact, there was a sizable herd of little unicorns  
hiding in the hedge, afraid to come out. Kirk tried  
enticing them forth with fresh berries, but they only  
backed further in among the thorns. He gave up. "What's  
scared them?" he asked, stepping away from the hedge.  
"Any ideas, Spock?"

"Possibly..." Spock turned this way and that, nostrils  
flaring like a horse's. "I believe I detect the  
presence of a body."

"A what?!" *Whose? An unsolved murder? A Klingon raid?  
An unknown invader? This place isn't safe anymore!*

"This way." Spock limped cautiously across the meadow  
to the edge of the woods, Kirk following. He stopped  
near a cluster of low, dogwood-like trees. The smell  
hung thickly in the still, shadowed air. "There it is,"  
he pointed.

Near the foot of the tree lay the raggedly dismembered  
carcass of a unicorn. The miniature tyrannosaurus was  
feeding on it.

"Goddamn! I'll break its scaly neck!" Kirk started  
forward, his hands clenched.

"Jim, stop." Spock clutched Kirk's arm, forcing him to  
stop or else pull Spock off his unsteady feet. "Such  
anger is illogical and destructive."

"'Destructive?' Me?! What about that thing?"

"It is a predatory animal, doing exactly what predators  
are designed by nature to do."

"Killing unicorns?"

"Despite your emotional attachment to them, they do  
function as prey for the larger carnivores."

"They function for their own sake, and not for that  
ugly lizard!" Knowing that Spock's argument was  
perfectly reasonable didn't make him any less outraged.

Spock grew annoyed at this stubborn illogic. "I fail to  
see why you condemn an animal for behavior which is  
essentially no different from what you did this  
morning. Did you or did you not kill an animal for  
food?"

Kirk glared at him. "It wasn't a unicorn."

"That is not an essential difference."

"The hell it isn't! Those pseudo-snits are too dumb to  
come in out of the rain; all they do is eat and breed.  
The unicorns are quick, bright, intelligent little  
things. They deserve better than to be eaten by a  
stupid, ill-tempered ugly dinosaur!"

"Astonishing." Spock gave him such a look of amazement  
that Kirk felt his anger drain away. "Am I correct in  
assuming that some form of predator's ethics applies  
here? Are there potential prey-animals that one does  
not eat, graded according to intelligence?"

"Huh?" said Kirk. "Er, you mean the smarter the animal  
is, the less I want to eat it? Well... I never thought  
about it before, but... yes, I think that's true."

"And you disapprove of an intelligent animal being  
preyed upon by a less intelligent one?"

"Yes." Kirk took two steps backward, glowering at the  
smeared tyrannosaurus and the hanks of fine blue hair  
drifting over the moss-like dark milkweed. "Other  
things, too: we've fed and petted the unicorns, and  
they're neighbors, and they're harmless, and pretty and  
I like them, and they're so small... I don't like  
bullies, animal or human or whatever." He turned away  
from the unpleasant scene and walked back through the  
long grass.

"Intriguing," Spock murmured, hobbling carefully after  
him. *A compound of ethic, aesthetic and personal  
affection (protection? ownership?) in imprecisely-  
described ratios... Is the famed (stereotyped?)  
unpredictability of emotions due only to unrealized  
complexity/compound nature? Is that all? If so... (how  
lax, petty, unworthy of scientists to settle merely for  
repression instead of trying to analyze, to unravel the  
complexities, to understand...) It is possible -- for  
me, for all of Vulcan... (Success, Father!) I will not  
turn aside. Onward, wherever; victory in sight.*

Kirk waited at the edge of the meadow. He slipped one  
arm around Spock and supported him on the way down the  
slope. Just once, he turned to look back. The  
tyrannosaurus was still feeding. "Go pick on someone  
your own size!" he shouted at it. His surface tone was  
light, but there was a determined anger beneath it.  
Spock thought fleetingly of the ancient human word  
'malediction.' They went back to the cabin with no  
further words.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Spock set the table for dinner, quietly pleased that he  
was sufficiently recovered to manage such work. In the  
kitchen, Kirk washed and chopped vegetables. There was  
a long moment's silence, then the sound of the cold-box  
opening. A minute later, Kirk came out with a skillet  
and a fork, some oil and half of the pseudo-snit  
carcass. Spock said nothing, but watched while Kirk  
arranged the pan on the fire and cooked the meat.

Wordlessly, Spock shuffled into the kitchen and came  
back with his own leaf-wrapped contribution and a small  
loaf-pan. He went to the fire, sat down beside Kirk,  
filled the loaf-pan and maneuvered it into the coals.

"What's that?" Kirk asked.

"A form of quick-bread, made of local grains and nut-  
meats."

"Oh. Is that what you were making this morning? I  
thought it was some kind of Vulcan specialty."

"This provides a better base for the honey. Besides,  
this environment does not provide the materials for  
Vulcan pastries."

"Hmmm, I never knew you could cook."

"You never asked me, Jim."

Kirk laughed softly, and turned the meat. When the food  
was done, they sat down and shared the salad. Spock  
took the lion's share of the vegetables. Kirk looked at  
the meat, put his hands together palm to palm, pressed  
his fingertips against his forehead, and shut his eyes.

*A reverential gesture?* Spock wondered, counting the  
seconds. *I have not seen him do that before...*

After half a minute, Kirk lowered his hands, took up  
his knife and fork, and cut into the meat as if nothing  
had happened. After the first bite, Spock stopped  
watching him. *Considering his earlier statements,*  
Spock concluded, *that could have been only a ritual  
gesture of respect to the animal itself!* He picked his  
way through the vegetables, thinking long thoughts  
about predator's ethics. He noted that Kirk ate every  
bit of the meat, even crunched up the small bones,  
wasting nothing. He could not recall seeing Kirk do  
that at other meals, over other meat. *--But then, he  
did not hunt those himself.* Yes, there was some  
complex but reliable ethical pattern at work here. He  
found the thought remarkably reassuring.

Kirk ate the quick-bread with honey for dessert and  
loved it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

After the dishes were cleaned, Spock went to the rug  
and stretched out on it, wondering if Kirk would prefer  
harp music or another mutual reading session. Kirk,  
absorbedly feeding wood into the fire, gave no  
indication of preference. If anything, he seemed  
distant, abstracted, oddly restless again. Spock  
studied him, wondering how to interpret this. *A  
dissatisfaction? An insufficiency? Of what?* Spock  
thumbed through his memories under 'Human Needs,  
Physical and Mental,' and came up with no better answer  
than the same old problem. *Lack of sufficient  
emotional communication. Our recent progress, though  
considerable, does not seem to have gone far enough.  
Why? (Perhaps the feelings involved are too intense to  
be drained by such 'safety valves.') What would be  
sufficient? ...Perhaps...*

There was one method he knew, had always known, for  
complete and direct communication. *Mind meld...* He  
shivered away from the thought, embarrassed and a  
little afraid. *The loss of privacy... (but I've seen  
his mind before, and neither of us were shamed) ...not  
a thing to be done lightly, only for need, in crisis...  
(and is this not a crisis situation?) ...usually  
reserved only for one's most intimate acquaintances  
(and is he not closer to me than anyone living?) Very  
well. Proceed.*

He rolled over and sat up. "Jim?"

Kirk turned and looked at him.

"I have been considering our... mutual problem. There  
is a possible technique which I have hesitated to use,  
perhaps to our loss. If you are willing, I shall  
attempt it."

"Spock, I'm willing to try anything that has any solid  
chance of success."

"There will necessarily be an invasion of privacy."

"There's nobody here but the two of us; that's private  
enough for me. What did you have in mind?"

For answer, Spock raised his hand and held it, fingers  
spread, an inch from Kirk's face.

"Oh. That." Kirk gnawed his lip for a moment. *It might  
work too well! Don't show him--* "Ah, just a minute.  
Let me take care of a... minor annoyance first." He  
stood up and hurried off to the bathroom.

Spock followed him with a fond and amused gaze. *Such  
delicacy... It should have occurred to me that he, too,  
might have reasons for embarrassment...* He fetched his  
harp and turned his attention to mastering a  
particularly intricate passage of a short concert  
piece. It wasn't until he'd practiced the phrase to  
perfection that he noticed how long Kirk had been gone.  
Speculating briefly on the strange toilet habits of  
humans, he selected another tune.

Eventually, Kirk returned, looking subdued, a little  
tired, and quite calm. He smiled and flopped down on  
the rug. Spock put the harp aside and hitched onto his  
knees, facing Kirk. He took a few measured breaths,  
lowered his mental shields to the first level, and  
placed his hands lightly on either side of Kirk's head.

*Feather-touch...* Kirk thought, holding himself  
relaxed, open and calm. Spock was there, close, shy,  
just touching the surface, a warm and gentle pressure  
like a summer breeze. *Come further. It's all right.* A  
faint stirring, like motion, like sliding cautiously  
into a pool that might be chilly, and then Spock was  
his mind, his personality, thoughtful and  
gently, shy and curious.* ...like a little unicorn,*  
Kirk laughed silently.

*Indeed?* Spock answered, bemused. *You symbolize me  
thus...* Abruptly, like a stone tossed into a still  
pool, rippling it, he remembered the slaughtered  
unicorn and the tyrannosaurus feasting on it.  
*Associations! Beyond what you said -- you saw that and  
thought of me--*

*I did? ...Yes. Yes, I did!* Kirk hadn't realized it  
until now, but the connection was there. Recognition of  
it opened a door, revealing a dark closet stuffed  
bursting-full of hideous, one-theme horrors: ugly  
dinosaur jaws spilling grass-green blood, cliffs  
collapsing in heavy thunder, nameless monsters  
grabbing, Spock dead a thousand different ways.  
Impulsively, Kirk reached out and wrapped his arms  
around Spock, as if to shield him or pull him away from  
danger. Up from the depths his protectiveness welled,  
fountained, flooded, sweeping through Spock's  
carefully-stationed barriers, rolling him under.

*Jim--* Spock leaned dizzily against those supporting  
arms. *I am safe. I am ... with you...*

The surrounding flood of feeling did not diminish, but  
it calmed. The frantic tide eased to a gentle rocking  
of waves, filling and holding him, protecting,  
sustaining, soft as easy sunlight. *Safe... yes...*  
Despite the utter loss of control, he felt no fear. He  
floated, helpless and astonished in the bright depths.  
*'Love', Jim? Is this love? Is this how it feels? I did  
not realize... all I know or suspected, and more...*

* -- love you -- * The enfolding brightness pulsed,  
familiar as his own hand, warmer than tears, flickering  
with undertones of yearning, tenderness, pain --  
intimations of grief. *Do you know how I would suffer  
if I lost you?*

*... Don't. Please don't...* Spock reached out to  
soothe that pain away. *You don't have to do that.  
(Reverse flow. Change. Change...) Not grief, not  
pain... Jim, there are other measures of love. I am  
certain. I have seen, though not understood, but they  
exist... we can have them... oh, love...*

*True. That's why we're here.* The flood-waters  
changed, lifted him to their surface, held him lightly  
on a quiet ocean of light. Spock drifted on it,  
entranced. * ... Beautiful... So beautiful...* It was  
awesome to realize that one mind could create such vast  
reaches of brightness, tenderness, beauty and power. *A  
new dimension... the positive dimension I sought... I  
had not guessed...*

In himself, he began to feel an answering tide, a  
desire to respond, reciprocate, reply to the source.  
*Yes. It is possible for me. I must not lose the  
chance. I need to... something... oh, do something!*  
Vaguely he felt Kirk's arms around him. *Yes! Like  
that.* His hands moved, stroking downward, silently  
speaking with an instinctive code of touch. As he  
pulled away from Kirk's head, the inner vision faded  
though the feeling of vast bright and peace remained.  
*Contact ending...* But this wasn't the usual pulling  
away, an abrupt clean severance; this was slower,  
easier, one level thinning out into another. *Easy...  
so gentle...* Normal vision returned, and he saw Kirk's  
eyes smiling into his own.

"F-fascinating..." he murmured still shaken.

"I knew you'd say that," Kirk laughed softly as his  
hands moved in slow circles on Spock's back. "It  
was..." *like afterglow, but without the...* "Very good."

"Fatiguing..." Spock yawned enormously.

"Worth it, though."

"Yes."

Kirk unfastened Spock's shirt and lowered him to the  
rug. Spock obligingly undressed and stretched out on  
his stomach. Kirk's hands moved over him, gentle and  
slow, and Spock let himself drift. The darkness crept  
softly down from the deepening sky, wrapping the world  
in tranquil silence. He pulled back to consciousness  
only briefly when Kirk picked him up and carried him to  
the bed. He stayed half awake while Kirk undressed and  
slipped in beside him, then sank back to sleep through  
a warm network of interlaced ankles, knees, elbows and  
chins. The night was quiet and nobody dreamed.

Spock wakened to a well-risen sun, the sound of tea  
brewing, and Kirk -- already dressed in flannel shirt  
and bluejeans -- pulling the covers off him. He smiled,  
stretched, and held out his arms to be lifted. Kirk  
carried him to the hearthrug and dutifully massaged his  
back and legs. The motions were relaxing and pleasant  
as always, but Spock had the faint impression that  
there was something hesitant, shy, withheld about them.  
Kirk seemed faintly distant, preoccupied. *Or perhaps  
this is lack of perspective, after the intense contact  
of last night,* Spock considered. *I surely cannot  
expect such levels of communication at all times.* He  
shrugged mentally and forgot about it.

The teakettle whistled for attention. Kirk got up to  
deal with and Spock, mildly sorry that the massage was  
finished, levered himself upright and went to dress.  
Breakfast was brief and quiet; Kirk said little, but  
smiled often.

Chores went quickly, too, Spock noticed. Despite his  
preoccupation, Kirk seemed charged with nervous energy.  
He made his way through the dishes and firewood-  
gathering in record time, then took the food basket and  
picked through the garden like a well-oiled harvesting  
machine. *Odd,* thought Spock. *We have sufficient food  
for the day... Draining excess nervous energy? A  
possible side-effect of the prolonged meld... How  
strange. Usually, melds have an enervating effect...*

After that, Kirk fetched more tanning berries and  
worked on the pseudo-snit hide for another two hours.  
Then he filled all the water buckets. Then he did the  
laundry. Spock began to wonder if Kirk weren't looking  
for tasks to keep himself busy.

*But why?* he wondered. *Not just excess energy; he has  
stopped several times to regain wind. Why is he  
indulging in make-work? (...To avoid me?) Why? We have  
made such excellent progress... (Perhaps too quickly.  
He may be frightened.) If so, the relapse is temporary.  
Patience.*

Kirk checked the tanning hide once again and looked  
around him, his expression saying clearly as words,  
*What now?*

"You appear troubled," Spock offered, coming up to him.

Kirk actually flinched in surprise, looked around and  
flashed a nervous smile. "No, not troubled," he said,  
"just restless. Maybe I'm not getting enough exercise."

"I regret that my physical condition may have  
constrained you to--"

"Naw, it's not your fault. I just haven't been watching  
myself. Maybe a swim... Yes, that nice cool lake looks  
very good." He moved down the path, slipping out of his  
shirt. "Care to join me?" he called back, radiating  
some of his usual mischievousness.

Spock favored him with a loftily raised eyebrow. "I  
assure you, I have no intention of approaching cold  
water any closer than necessary."

"Fine. You feed the brontos and I'll go swim. Just  
don't teach them anything new."

Spock actually blushed.

Kirk laughed, strolled down to the beach and undressed  
at the edge of the waves. Spock shrugged, stopped to  
pick some berries, then went to the edge of the bronto-  
marsh.

Kirk stayed in the water for nearly an hour, paddling  
back and forth across the lake so energetically that  
the little purple whale chose not to bother him again.  
At last, comfortably tired, he floated on his back and  
looked up in the sky. *Cool blue... like deep water...  
cold water.* He grinned wryly. *Cool down, James T. ...  
chill that Tomcat itch... cheap price for success...  
and we're succeeding. Everything will be fine now...*  
He glanced toward the shore and saw that Spock was  
waiting for him. A pulse twitched. He turned over and  
started swimming energetically again.

Spock leaned back on the short grass and admired the  
scenery, the lake, Kirk disporting himself in the water  
like a frisky dolphin. *Born sea-mammal,* he thought  
fondly. *I must see Earth again soon, spend more time  
studying aquatic life...*

Kirk came out puffing, looking quite relaxed. He shook  
himself dry, toweled off with his shirt, pulled on his  
clothes and came plodding up the shore. The brontos  
paddled forward, whistling. He practically ran up the  
slope to get away from them.

"Come on, Spock," he said, helping the Vulcan to his  
feet with unseemly haste. "Let's go have lunch."

Surprised, Spock assented. They climbed the slope as  
rapidly as Spock's unsteady legs would permit. Behind  
them, the disappointed brontos trumpeted obscene  
noises. 

Kirk blushed furiously.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Lunch was unusually light -- the last of the bread,  
with honey, and some assorted fruit. Kirk toyed with  
his food and appeared grateful when Spock was finished.  
He did the dishes quickly and paced once around the  
cabin, looking preoccupied. Spock was at the point of  
asking what was troubling him when Kirk came up with  
another occupational idea.

"Hey, let's go see how the unicorns are doing. Maybe  
they've come out of hiding."

*Checking his livestock?* Spock wondered, getting to  
his feet with Kirk's help. "They may still be unwilling  
to show themselves," he cautioned. "It is unlikely that  
the tyrannosaurus has moved to other hunting grounds."

"Then let's go see what the lizard's up to."

*Perhaps he hopes to drive it away,* Spock considered  
as they walked the slope to the woods. *That might be  
the best compromise...*

They were only a few moments into the light forest when  
they heard the sounds: hissing, screeching, thudding of  
small feet.

"That sounds like a fight!" Kirk jumped forward,  
remembered Spock, turned and picked him up, and ran  
toward the battle-racket as fast as he could. They  
broke through a neo-dogwood hedge into a clearing and  
stopped short. Kirk almost dropped Spock, who managed  
to land neatly on his feet. They both stared at the  
raging battle, uncertain what to do.

One of the warriors was the tyrannosaurus, jaws wide  
open and all fifty fangs bared. The other was the young  
bull minimoth, curly head tossing, white tusks stained  
with reptilian blood. They grappled, pulled apart,  
circled and charged to grapple again. Both were cut and  
bleeding. The tyrannosaurus had the heavier weaponry,  
but the minimoth was quicker and more precise. Their  
strength and weight seemed equal.

"Goddam," said Kirk in the awed voice of seeing an idle  
curse come true. "He *did* pick on someone his own  
size!"

"We should not interfere," Spock warned. "Aiding either  
side would be unwarranted interference in the  
ecosystem."

"All right, all right!" Kirk sat down, digging his  
fingers into the moss. "But you know which one my  
money's on."

"Fascinating," said Spock, sitting beside him. *Is this  
the origin of human 'spectator sports'? Intriguing  
exercise in observation and self-control...*

The tyrannosaurus charged, jaws gaping. The minimoth  
trumpeted, stamped, lowered its head and, at the last  
minute, ducked aside. The tyrannosaurus stumbled past,  
braking awkwardly. The minimoth whirled and slammed  
into the reptile from the side, bowed head raking  
upward. The tyrannosaurus tottered, flailed, and went  
over.

"He's down!" Kirk cheered. "It's all over but the  
shouting."

"Jim, do not get up to congratulate the victor," Spock  
nagged. "He may misunderstand your intentions. Allow  
nature to take its course."

"Okay, I'll wait," Kirk grumbled.

The tyrannosaurus, helpless off its feet, rolled and  
kicked and gnashed its glittering teeth. The minimoth  
backed off, panting, then lowered its head and charged  
again. The impact was heavy and the tusks slammed deep.  
The tyrannosaurus screeched.

Spock went pale; he hadn't expected that.

"He's going to finish him off," Kirk said. "Don't  
watch."

"It was I who insisted on non-interference..." Spock  
folded his hands together and watched, sickened, but  
resolute.

The minimoth stabbed a few times more, raking up gouts  
of dark blood and unidentifiable chunks of flesh, then  
plodded around to the lizard's feebly-thrashing head  
and methodically stamped on it. It took half a dozen  
stomps to break the skull. The minimoth kept tramping,  
puffing like a bellows, motions slowing noticeably,  
crushing brains and skin and plates of wet bone. The  
worst of it was that the tyrannosaurus' feet still  
twitched.

*Reptiles expire slowly,* Spock thought, growing dizzy.  
*The minimoth is intelligent enough to be thorough...*  
Kirk quietly slipped one arm around his shoulders.  
Infinitely grateful, Spock leaned against him.

Satisfied, or exhausted, the minimoth pulled away from  
the gory reptilian corpse and staggered off toward the  
bushes. The rest of the herd, Spock noticed, was hidden  
there, watching with wide eyes. Halfway to safety, the  
little animal fell to its knees. Some of the other  
minimoths started forward, possibly intending to help,  
but stopped in consternation as they saw the two  
strangers nearby.

"That's enough," said Kirk, getting to his feet. "They  
won't dare come help while we're here. I think that  
gives us the responsibility."

This time, Spock didn't argue.

Kirk walked slowly to the injured animal, murmuring  
repetitive promises of safety. The minimoth rolled an  
exhausted eye at him and didn't even try to move. Kirk  
knelt beside it, patting gently. The minimoth only  
snorted. Watching, Spock wondered if the beast was  
sufficiently intelligent to comprehend Kirk's  
intentions. The minimoth complained weakly as Kirk  
gathered it in his arms and picked it up, but then in  
lay still, only its ears flapping, as if resigned to  
its strange fate.

"I have to get him water fast," said Kirk. "Will you be  
all right if I run off to the lake?"

"*I* am in no danger." Spock climbed to his feet with  
the aid of the crutch. "Proceed. I will follow as  
quickly as possible."

Kirk nodded acknowledgement, cradled the minimoth in  
his arms and strode off to the lake. Spock limped  
slowly after him, wondering if he was witnessing a  
reenactment of the first human domestication of  
animals. Dozens of animals peered at him, stepping  
unhurriedly out of the way as he walked, their earlier  
shyness gone. Apparently, the news of the tyrannosaur's  
death spread quickly. Spock came down to the lake to  
find Kirk kneeling in the shadows, ignoring his soaked  
pants, carefully washing the minimoth's wounds. The  
water was pink with spreading blood. The animal was  
sucking up the water with its trunk, too thirsty to  
care about the taste.

"He's going to need bandaging," Kirk commented as Spock  
tottered down beside him. "There are some bad gouges on  
his neck and shoulders."

"There has also been considerable blood loss," Spock  
added. "Note the unusual thirst and shivering."

"Let him drink as much as he can. We'll set him by the  
fire to keep warm. Can you pick some of that grass for  
bedding?"

Spock went into the tall weeds and pulled up an armload  
of grass, intrigued by his own growing enthusiasm. *...  
An expression of my own human instincts?* he wondered.  
*Surely I have a few (or more than a few). Yes, I am  
somewhat... fond of the engaging little creature.  
Affection/protectiveness extended to reserved-prey  
(intelligent... and likeable) animal: beginnings of  
domestication. Instinct inclined toward technological  
advance (not only harmless, but useful). Fascinating!*

He took the grass into the cabin and spread it before  
the fire, where Kirk sat rubbing salve into the  
minimoth's wounds. The little animal must have felt  
some pain at these ministrations, but it grumpily  
endured them without trying to escape. *It does appear  
to understand that we are trying to help,* Spock  
marveled. He went to the kitchen for the drinking-water  
bucket and some assorted vegetables.

"Easy now, big boy," Kirk reassured the minimoth as he  
wrapped gauze bandaged around its neck. "Pity McCoy  
isn't here, but I think you'll heal clean anyway.  
There, there..." He set the animal down on the mat of  
fresh grass.

The minimoth blinked owlishly, glared at the fire with  
suspicion, inspected its bed, flapped its ears and  
pulled unsteadily to its feet. Spock carefully set the  
water and food before it, then backed away. The  
minimoth eyed him for a moment, dismissed him with a  
snort, and turned its attention to the food. After  
sampling a little of everything, it settled down to  
serious demolition of the heap of berries.

"He's got a healthy appetite," Kirk laughed. "That's a  
good sign. Let's leave him alone to eat while we go  
watch the sunset."

"You seem to have a particular fondness for sunsets."

"Sure. I never get to see enough of them when I'm on  
the ship."

They strolled down to the lake, listening to the Wild  
Concert as the sun slid toward the horizon. A light  
breeze riffled the water, sharpening the wavelets until  
their edges gleamed with sunset-fire. They sat by the  
shore and waited, watching the sun change colors and  
the velvet shadows lengthen. The sky was streaked with  
banners of violet clouds and long lines of birds.  
Flocks of snits and unicorns trotted down to the water  
to drink, their squeaking and nickering adding to the  
chorus of evening sounds. There seemed to be more of  
them than usual. Spock wondered if they were  
celebrating their freedom from the tyrant-lizard. He  
turned to look at Kirk and saw the last red-gold light  
of the sun glowing on his face. The hazel eyes seemed  
to shine with an internal light of their own. *Never  
have I seen anything more beautiful...* Spock felt his  
breath catch in his throat, and the nameless feeling  
flooded him again, filling his mind with wordless  
singing, yearning, aching to do something he couldn't  
define. He reached out one hand and rested it on Kirk's  
shoulder. Kirk glanced at him, his light smile as  
dazzling as the sunlight. Spock felt as if he were  
melting inside.

"I think we've made it, Spock," Kirk said very quietly.  
"I think everything's going to be all right."

Spock only nodded agreement. He didn't trust his voice  
just then.

The last sliver of molten sun-disk dropped behind the  
mountains. The lake darkened to midnight blue, and the  
valley filled like a cup with violet shadows. The last  
of the animals trotted away from the lake and  
disappeared into the netted darkness of the underbrush.  
Kirk sighed, stretched, got to his feet, and extended a  
hand to help Spock up. Spock followed him silently up  
the path, weak legs carrying him slowly but surely,  
wondering idly if his undiminished welter of nameless  
feelings were literally buoying him up.

The minimoth looked up, burbling cheerfully, as they  
came in. It didn't even step aside as they sat down  
near it on the hearthrug. The little creature flapped  
its ears at Spock and shyly inspected him with its  
trunk. Spock sat still, bemused and a little touched.  
*Can the creature sense my emotional state?* he  
wondered. "It appears to be an affectionate animal."

"True." Kirk smiled. "Or maybe he's frisking you for  
more food."

*Joke,* Spock recognized, arching an eyebrow at him.  
"The animal does seem intelligent enough to be capable  
of covert pilferage." He petted the little elephant's  
head.

Kirk chuckled and set more wood on the fire. The flames  
caught and blazed up merrily. Spock watched him,  
feeling the whole incident, setting, scene and feeling  
coalesce to a beautiful conclusion. *Yes, Father; it is  
possible. The positive dimension -- we can have it, and  
be saved thereby. These human techniques for  
harnessing, guiding, using our emotions -- we can have  
them. I have seen it. In myself. Oh, Jim, yes! Yes,  
everything will be well now. Yes. Yes.*

The minimoth rocked from side to side, burbling happily  
over the vegetables. Kirk leaned back and watched,  
smiling, haloed with firelight.

*How beautiful you are!* Spock felt the nameless  
delight rise wild and singing. He hitched over to  
Kirk's side, slipped an arm around his waist, rested  
his chin on Kirk's shoulder.

Kirk leaned against him and hugged back. "Penny for  
your thoughts," he murmured.

"I believe they are of more value than that." Spock  
rubbed his cheek against Kirk's neck. "I am happy. I  
can recognize it now. And my philosophical problem is  
solved." He felt his words floating on the surface of  
his bright haze of happiness, the joy in him singing,  
singing. He wanted Kirk to share it. He slipped one  
hand gently up to Kirk's face and let his telepathic  
barriers drop. *What is this I feel, Jim? Give it a  
name.*

"Love," Kirk whispered, basking in that bright outflow.  
*Deep and strong as a great river... ah, heavy current.  
Can you hear me? It doesn't matter* "We've won. We're  
going to be all right, both of us. Safe! Safe at last!  
Oh, I love you..."

"Love..." Spock nuzzled his ear, voice thick and fuzzy.  
"Yes, I understand it now. This is... what I felt in  
your mind yesterday. Ah, beautiful beyond telling! No,  
I could never be ashamed of this... sweet, bright  
feeling... I love you, Jim. Friend. Dearest friend..."  
*Such happiness... I could burst...* The brightness  
climbed, soared, singing, purring deep in his throat,  
rippling with his pulse, promising further heights, the  
yearning growing clear and defined. *Touch...* He  
leaned his whole body against Kirk, reveling in the  
contact, pressing tight. *Yes! Yes!* His free hand  
reached blindly, bumped against a smooth knee, petted  
gently, sliding into longer and longer strokes.

Half-drowned in the surging brightness, Kirk realized  
too late what was happening. He managed to clench his  
mental shields tight, letting no thought escape,  
without Spock noticing -- but he couldn't stop the  
other reaction. He squeezed his eyes shut, horrified at  
himself, feeling the pulsing hot pressure swell and  
rise. *Don't let Spock know!* was all he could think.  
*Don't let him-- Stop it-- Can't--*

Spock noticed idly that Kirk was beginning to squirm in  
his arms. Perhaps this presaged another playful  
wrestling match. *Not now,* he decided, tightening his  
grip. His other hand slid further, enjoying the  
marvelous sculpturing of the long thigh muscles. The  
sensation was utterly delightful.

Kirk writhed frantically, helpless against his  
strength. Spock found that intensely pleasurable. *I  
have you...* The warm/bright/singing joy sharpened and  
grew, rising to a fierce peak. *Yes, I could control  
you if I wished...* Purring, he nipped softly at Kirk's  
neck and ears. *I could...* His hand slid higher--

\--and brushed against something completely unexpected.

Surprised, Spock stopped where he was. His fingers  
probed, tested, explored.

Kirk groaned, turning his face away.

It took several seconds for Spock to realize what he  
was holding, and what it meant. He stared at Kirk,  
amazed, studying the tightly struggling body, the  
averted, tensed, ecstatic/agonized face. Realization  
slowly trickled through his astonishment. *That is...  
desire. He is suffering... an agony of desire. And I  
have put him there. I can do that to him.*

With that understanding, the bright/hot/sharp/singing  
feeling crested, too fierce to ignore, finally  
revealing itself. He remembered where and when he'd  
felt it before. *With Leila. With Zarabeth. With them,  
impossible. But with him...*

In that instant, Kirk's taut face and helplessly  
writhing body was the most beautiful, enthralling,  
desirable sight he'd ever known.

Right there, up rose all the old terrors of emotion in  
a single dark wave, uncontrollable and vast, over his  
head. *Too much! Too close! Escape--* Panicked, Spock  
jumped back. He rolled away from Kirk, frantic to put  
safe distance between them, scrambled clumsily to his  
feet and stumbled out of the cabin.

Behind him, abandoned, Kirk slumped forward until his  
bowed head almost touched his knees. His hands shook,  
clutched at the floorboards, tightened into fists. He  
sobbed once, then stopped.

The minimoth glanced toward him, ears flapping in  
bewilderment.

Part 16

Halfway to the lake, Spock's overworked legs gave out  
and dropped him to the grass. The impact jarred loose  
the grip of fright, giving him a moment to think.  
*Fool!!* he railed himself. *Where would I go? There is  
no shelter here. Think.*

Panting, he sat up and glanced at the sky. No light was  
there except the cool tapestry of the stars.  
*...Alone,* he understood. *Alone, save for him... and  
nowhere to run, or hide. I must deal with it. (Oh, I'm  
afraid!) Afraid... Yes, I have learned that, too.* He  
shivered in the night breeze.

A troop of unicorns approached, going to the lake in  
the safety of darkness. Pitifully grateful for the  
distraction, Spock held out his hand to them. They  
shied, snorted, tossed their horned heads and scampered  
away. With a pang, he remembered the other part of the  
legend of the unicorn.

"But I didn't do it!" he cried to the uncaring night  
sky. "I have never -- never completed..." *Virgin!  
(Technically.) 'Technical virgin...'*

He pulled his knees and rested his forehead on them,  
bitterly remembering the Vulcan -- and more accurate --  
synonym. *'Tease'. Yes... yes, I am. I did that. To  
Jim. I made him suffer... what no Vulcan could have  
endured! And I enjoyed doing it!* It had been a long  
time since he'd wanted, so badly, to cry. *No, no, I  
didn't know what I was doing... (Didn't I?! After all  
these years of studying humans? After what he told me  
about his own desires? -- Oh, fool! Fool ten times  
over!) No! I am a Vulcan! There was no precedent for  
my-- (Liar! Remember Zarabeth!) ...Oh, yes, Zarabeth.  
I was too much Vulcan then, and what good did it to me?  
Oh, Father, how we have lied to ourselves...*

The night wind ruffled his hair, gently as a friend's  
hand. Out of his misery, Spock remembered the  
gentleness of an earlier touch. There was something he  
had learned, something valuable, and it connected --  
now that he thought of it -- with an old anomaly he had  
never questioned before. *'Friend',* he thought, *as in  
'the male is accompanied by his closest friends...' Why  
do we have such a word, such a concept, if it is not  
meant to be used?*

Puzzled, he pulled his face up from his knees.  
*'Friend', from the ancient word: 'shieldmate' ... also  
translated as 'deflector'. (Deflector? Of what?)  
Implies... (look at it) ... the ancient custom of  
deflecting aggression to fellow males by... (Yes! Look  
at it!) ... encouraging affection toward them by...  
(Say it!) ...out of season mating. (Yes.) Affection  
deflecting aggression. (The same as humans.) Yes.*

Spock sat up on the chilling grass, the last vestiges  
of terror and shame trickling out of him, transfixed by  
this hard-gained knowledge. *The same as humans. It is  
possible for us, and always was. Yes, we knew of it. I  
knew of it. In some corner of my mind, I knew what I  
was doing, all the time. (Love.) Yes, I love him, and  
have for a long time... loved to the point of unreason,  
self-destruction... (And here?) ... I have been  
courting him, in the fashion of my ancestors. (Which  
ones? Human? Vulcan?) It doesn't matter. (No, it  
doesn't matter! The effect is the same! 'A difference  
which makes no difference'...) '...is no difference.'  
Yes, I wanted him. I courted him. I have won him.  
(Success!) Yes, that is what I felt. Victory. That  
sense of joy and power when I saw what I had done...  
Yes, that is what I feared. And fled. (Coward and fool!  
To run from such a prize!) Indeed! How dare I throw  
away something so infinitely precious? How dare I turn  
away?! (Go back to him.) Indeed.*

Spock maneuvered his feet under him and shakily pulled  
himself upright. He turned back toward the cabin. His  
knees threatened to drop him again. *No matter,* he  
decided. *I will go back to him if I have to crawl  
every inch of the way.*

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

The minimoth rocked from foot to foot, harrumphing  
anxiously. There seemed to be something wrong with the  
rescuer-giant. Perhaps it was ill. The minimoth hoped  
not.

Kirk stayed where he was, not wanting to move. If he  
took his hands off the floor, there was a good chance  
he'd beat his face in with them. *Careless, horny  
idiot!* he screamed at himself silently. *Couldn't keep  
my own goddam crotch under control, and now I've lost  
everything. Oh, Spock... Oh, that look on his face.  
Terrified! He ran... How long can he run on those legs?  
Until he breaks them!?*

A horrifying vision swept up before his tight-shut  
eyes: Spock, lying crippled in some valley a dozen  
miles away, unable to reach food or water, chilling  
slowly in the night wind -- and the ugly tyrannosaurus,  
a whole pack of them, stalking patiently after him,  
like vulture... waiting.

"No!" Kirk whispered. "Please, no!" *McCoy's worst  
warning: 'raid the game for good' -- and I did it! I  
did! Go back and tell Bones I lost my best friend  
because I didn't think to go off and beat that thing  
into submission before I got near him again! Too much  
trust in cold water, and it wasn't enough. Oh,  
Spock...*

The minimoth's trunk brushed against his hand. He  
flinched.

"Go 'way," he muttered. "Don't you know I'm no good to  
my friends?" *No damn good. Damn near got him killed so  
many times, and now... Stupid horny bastard... How in  
hell did I let it get that far anyway?* He stared into  
the sinking fire, trying to understand. *...Just old,  
dirty habits? So used to saying 'love' when my britches  
itch that I can't keep it from working the other way  
around? ... No, that doesn't make sense.*

He rubbed his eyes with his sleeve, realizing that the  
truth wasn't that simple. *No,* he remembered, *I don't  
recall that I ever felt that for him before we got  
here, before I knew I had to get through to him about  
love... 'How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...'  
I counted all the ways, tried them all, found so many  
that worked. Why couldn't I stay content with them?  
Why?!*

Unbidden, his memory replayed every incident of Spock's  
innocent teasing, all of it relentlessly seductive --  
and effective. The memories alone made his hands sweat.  
*Oh, sure, blame the victim!* Kirk raged at himself.  
*As if he knew what he was doing! Innocent as a child,  
no matter how it looked... I knew that. I didn't have  
to let those things get to me. Why did I? Why, why, why  
couldn't I stop?!!*

Desperate for an answer, he ran through the razor-edged  
memories of that last hour before disaster. He  
remembered all they'd done and felt, every detail,  
every shade of feeling: warmth, closeness, joy,  
contentment, peace, something that had looked like  
perfect understanding, all rising to that bright peak,  
crowned with the embrace that had seemed so utterly  
fitting -- until it heeled over into ruin. Try as he  
might, Kirk simply could not pick out the instant when  
it had changed. *It took me too long even to recognize  
it... it had to be present earlier... sneaked up on  
me... so much a part of everything else... grew right  
along with it, undifferentiated, inseparable part of  
all that happiness, so bright, so strong...*

Kirk snapped his head up, eyes wide. *Could that be the  
answer?! Any feeling that fierce, that intense -- Bones  
was right: can't keep it locked up, it has to take  
form, expression, and the strongest expression possible  
\-- physical expression -- Yes! Enough pain can make  
anyone cry. Enough joy can-- Then a touch could do it!  
Intense enough feeling, and no touch is innocent -- or  
else they all are, and we're damned fools for even  
trying to make the distinction! There is no border, no  
off-on switch, no black-and-white cutoff point -- it's  
all a smooth spectrum, a sliding scale...*

He took a deep breath, sagging with relief. *All right,  
now I know. I can explain it. We can understand it,  
deal with it. It's not hopeless, just another  
problem... a small roadblock... if even that. I have to  
tell him, make him understand, make him see that it's  
all right and there's no harm done; we can deal with it  
together. It's not so terrible, we can work around it  
and be happy... Oh, where is he? Where can I find him?  
How can I make him understand?*

There was a sound at the door: one dragging footstep,  
then another.

Kirk froze, not daring to look up, afraid of shattering  
his last chance with a single, incautious word.

Spock came over to the hearthrug and sat down clumsily.  
He noted that Kirk didn't seem to have moved in all the  
time he'd been gone. The thing changed was Kirk's face;  
he seemed to have been crying. The knowledge hurt. *I  
have caused that. I must end it...* Spock took Kirk by  
the shoulders, lifted him, gently turned him so they  
could look each other in the eyes.

Kirk said nothing, but he was shaking.

Carefully, somewhat awkwardly, Spock leaned forward and  
kissed him.

The relief was so fierce that Kirk thought he might  
collapse under it. He wrapped his arms around Spock's  
lean body, clinging to him for support as much as for  
everything else. He felt like crying or laughing wildly  
or babbling romantic nonsense, but all he did was hang  
on tight.

Spock cautiously copied the motions, wishing he had  
learned better from the little experience he'd had. He  
wished he knew how to do this properly. He wished he  
were better prepared to accept such a victory, how best  
to treat the prize, even how to explain. "I... I am not  
familiar with the procedure," he tried lamely. "You  
shall have to instruct me. Please be patient, Jim; I am  
very inexperienced with love."

Kirk laughed weakly against his chest. "Experience  
didn't help me that much... I'm sorry, Spock. I..."  
*Wait a minute... he can't mean...* "Look, it isn't  
your fault, but I... I can't seem to help feeling... I  
mean..."

"I understand." *Oh, love, do not blame yourself!* "I  
have made you desire me."

"It wasn't your fault! I did it. It was my automatic--"

"No." Spock brushed gentle, quieting fingers across his  
lips. "I am not so ignorant as I pretended."

"What?! I can't believe--"

"Jim, I have lied unforgivably -- to you, and to  
myself. I have... Although I never completed the  
action, I have known the feeling. I simply did not  
recognize -- did not want to recognize... what I  
wanted..." His arm closed so tight that they squeezed  
the breath out of Kirk's lungs. "Humans have no  
monopoly on self-deception. It is possible for  
Vulcans... very possible."

"Spock..." Kirk wriggled in that iron grip, got a  
little more room to breathe. "You don't have to... go  
this far. I can control it. You--"

"No." Spock took him by the shoulders and held him at  
arm's length, looking him steadily in the eyes. "You  
have controlled yourself far better than I have in this  
matter, far better than any Vulcan..." He shook his  
head in a very human gesture of amazement. "How I have  
tormented you! And... enjoyed it."

Kirk could only stare at him, gaping.

"Yes." Spock's eyes were wide, revealed, utterly  
honest. "I have indeed loved you for an immeasurable  
time." *Strange, how easy it is to say the forbidden  
word, now that I know how true it is...* "I do not know  
precisely when I began to desire you as well.  
Perhaps..." His eyes wandered to star-patterned sky  
overhead. "Perhaps when I began to learn what it was,  
how it felt..." Idly, his hands circled on Kirk's back,  
exploring the shifting muscle and bone beneath the thin  
cloth. "But I do know that I feel it now, past any  
doubt or denial." *Even at this moment... just the feel  
of you under my hands, the sight of that beautiful  
face... 'Behold the prize that thou hast won.' ...and  
that I do not intend to let go!* "Do not speak to me of  
denying myself any further." With that, he pulled Kirk  
hard against him and let his hands slide down, nuzzling  
shamelessly at his neck, falling willingly into the  
bright/sweet drunkenness of senses, of touch.

Kirk leaned against Spock's warm shoulder, panting as  
if he'd run five miles. *Can't believe this! Happening  
so fast--* The solid flesh surrounding him seemed the  
only real thing in the upended, spinning universe. The  
hot sliding hands left trails of soft fire under his  
skin, igniting him. He knew he couldn't resist it for  
very long. *Ask now, while I can...* "But... you're  
Vulcan..." he whispered, scrambling for words.

"Yes," Spock breathed through Kirk's tousled hair. "And  
Vulcans are dangerously passionate creature. Otherwise,  
we would not have needed such ruthless adherence to  
logic, to emotional repression... But I think..." He  
smiled against Kirk's cheek. "If I may dare to compare  
myself to Surak, I think I may have found... something  
better." *Indeed better... so good... this shirt is in  
the way...*

"What? ...Found what?" Kirk gasped, holding onto Spock  
as if his life depended on it. The growing sweet  
tickling warmth was making him dizzy, making it hard to  
hold still, swamping his thoughts.

"I have seen," Spock purred, "you have shown me that  
emotions can be allowed, used constructively, even  
enjoyed." He slipped his hands under Kirk's shirt,  
marveling at the concert of textures, delighted to feel  
the warm shiver at his touch. *Appreciative...  
Beautiful in all things. Oh, how I love you!* "For your  
sake, for mine, even perhaps for Vulcan's -- I cannot  
turn back now." He could feel the  
bright/sweet/fierce/singing feeling rising in him  
again, returning in full strength, fast flooding,  
filling him in vast and growing waves. This time he  
recognized it and was not afraid. He let himself flow  
with it. *Into the unknown.. but I have seen reason to  
trust. Yes, I accept. (I accept!) Carry me, ancient  
tide. My friend/shield-mate/deflector..* "Jim, I love  
you!"

"Oh, love, yes!" Kirk clutched back, feeling the  
floodgates open -- mental, physical, Spock's, his own,  
without clear border or difference, all brightness and  
sweet burning, lifting him, pulsing. His hands climbed  
Spock's shoulders, up to his neck, pulled his face down  
and met head-on in a hard, fierce kiss. *Lips so soft,  
so warm...* He couldn't believe how good it felt, how  
utterly happy he was.

Spock purred thunderously against him, tilted sideways,  
rolled down onto the hearthrug, pulling Kirk with him.  
He nipped playfully at Kirk's neck, felt for the shirt  
buttons, and began unfastening them. His fingers  
vibrated with his rising pulse. Kirk wriggled away from  
the intoxicating touch and shook his head hard, trying  
to clear it. Spock pounced on him like a playful  
leopard, pinning him down, and continued to pull the  
shirt away.

*Seductive, hell!* Kirk thought dizzily. *Damn good at  
it... he's going to try again, all the way to... the  
finish? Does he really know where he's going, what he's  
doing, what will happen? Be sure. Now, while I can  
still think... or stop, or he can. Quick, before the  
tides pull us in over our heads!*

"Spock--" He pulled back and raised his head until he  
could look Spock in the face. Those dark Vulcan eyes  
had never been so bright, so gentle, so unshielded. "Be  
sure," he said, choosing his words with as much care as  
he could muster. "Are you certain you know where this  
is going? Will you... follow all the way to the end?  
Spock, do you want to make love?"

The vulnerable eyes never flinched. "Yes," he said.  
"Yes, I will. Yes."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

That was exactly what they did... three times that  
night and again in the morning.

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> "This Deadly Innocence" was originally published in NAKED TIMES 3.  
> Anyone who remembers reading the story in its early years and who has information, insights, or reminiscences to offer, please post them.
> 
> This story is being posted as part of the "Foresmutters Project", an anarchic effort to make some of the older zine-published Star Trek fanfiction available online. No work will be posted without the express consent of the author or hir estate.


End file.
